


come one, come all

by didsw



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU where georgie isnt dead duh, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrack, Groundhog Day AU, M/M, bill's as Straight White Boy as it gets in the 90s, eddie has to repeat the same day over and over, losers go to the fair, lots of eddies internal monologue, sonias annoying but not the abusive bitch she could be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsw/pseuds/didsw
Summary: It's April of their junior year, and Eddie just wants a nice weekend with his friends where he can have fun at the fair, escape his mom's helicopter parenting, and ignore his responsibilities (as well as his super-secret, supremely pathetic crush on fucking Trashmouth, of all people).The day kind of sucks, in the end, and all Eddie wants to do by the time night falls is curl up in bed and forget about his worries...at least until tomorrow, when he can tackle them with a clearer head.But then he wakes up--and it's yesterday all over again--but for some reason,no oneseems to fucking notice! And Eddie is forced to relive the fair again. And again. Andagain.What thehellis going on??





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> first foray into the fandom, fingers crossed it goes well lol!

Hard rapping on his window jolts Eddie awake at--he scowls. Who the fuck’s out and about at 7:27 am on a goddamn Saturday? Richie, that’s who. Who the fuck else? Eddie isn’t even surprised. Asshole in question grins at him through the glass. 

“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!” Richie’s obnoxiously loud voice is somewhat muffled through the window.

“Richie,” Eddie groans, and grasps at his alarm clock. “It’s way too early for this shit. Go ‘way.”

“No can do, Spaghetti Man. Lemme in, it’s chilly. Also,” and Richie flashes him a sheepish smile, “I accidentally put too much weight on the gutter when climbing up and it broke, so I don’t have a foothold to get down.” He laughs at the look on Eddie’s face.

“Je _sus_ , Rich,” Eddie rubs a hand over his eyes. He can already feel tension building up in his head, his neck. Not that it's necessarily Richie’s fault, not really, but this brand of early morning dicking around certainly isn’t helping his stress levels. “Alright, fine, I’m coming. Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, throwing the covers off and leaving his warm nest of a bed. Eddie continues to gripe as he walks to the window. “Can’t believe this shit, getting me out of bed at the asscrack of dawn for what?” He throws the window open and Richie’s gangly limbs tumble inside. “The fucking county fair? We’re not twelve anymore, _fuck’s_ sake.” 

Eddie doesn’t know why he drags this on. He knew Richie would come this early, he knew he’d eventually let him in. They pull this schtick every year, and one would _think_ , seeing as they’re _juniors_ in _high school_ , they’d finally call it quits. But, no--Bill and Richie take the fair way too seriously. 

“Eddie,” Richie bounds up from the floor and his grin is all teeth and way too cheery for the hour. “Put some clothes on, boy-o! Go on, hop to it! I don’t want Bill to leave without us. Also, you got any spare toothbrushes?” He laughs at the look on Eddie’s face. “What? I was rushing to get here, sue me!”

“That’s literally disgusting,” Eddie says, turning away from Richie and his gross-ass morning mouth to rummage in his closet. “Obviously we have a toothbrush for you. It’s in the--”

“Second drawer on the left, yeah, I remember,” Richie finishes for him, bounding out Eddie’s door to the bathroom.

“And keep your voice down! My mom’s still sleeping!”

“You’re the one yelling!” Richie calls back, and Eddie can just _hear_ the amusement lacing his voice. Fucking trashmouth! He swears to God if Richie wakes up his mom…he’ll shove him out the window himself, gutter be damned. Serves the loudmouth right. His mom hates the fair, and Richie knows it. She’s always warning him that it’s too _crowded_ , too _dangerous, oh, Eddie-bear, you know those awful rides will just give you a headache!_

It doesn’t help that she hates his friends, too. He’s had to hear her lectures on _Richard_ and _that Marsh girl_ too many times to count. It’s annoying as fuck! Like he and his mom haven’t been having the same shitty arguments about Eddie’s friends since third grade. Eddie doesn’t know when his mom’s gonna finally accept the Loser’s Club, but he hopes to high heaven it’s sometime fucking soon because he’s still subjected to the third degree anytime he wants to go out. 

Which is _exactly_ why Richie should keep his fucking voice down!! Eddie doesn’t want to deal with her nosy, prying questions at this hour. _Especially_ because his mom’s always in an awful mood if she wakes up before her alarm. 

“Doesn’t that sound familiar,” is all Richie has to say when Eddie marches over to the bathroom and relates this all back to him as he spits foam into the sink. He bumps Eddie with his hip. “Like mother like son.” As if Eddie didn’t get that the first time. 

“Oh, shut up,” Eddie says. “Hurry and rinse, would you? I’m hungry.” 

Richie closes his eyes, smiling dreamily at the ceiling. “You think Mrs. D made waffles?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s been five years of the same shit, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Can’t buck tradition!” Richie leans on Eddie’s shoulders, his bony as fuck elbow digging into Eddie’s neck. “Whaddya say, Eds, care to start on year six?”

“The _only_ thing I ‘care’ about is to make it through today successfully without killing you,” Eddie grits out, shoving Richie’s arm off. “Or myself.”

“Nice to know at least ya think about me, Eds,” Richie says, and he smiles at Eddie--actually smiles--with no hint of a tease whatsoever. It’s just a nice, normal, state-of-the-art Richie Tozier smile, like he’s not even kidding or anything. Eddie feels his hackles rise regardless.

He snaps his mouth shut and turns to pad back into his room to escape the moment, but Richie follows anyways. Eddie knew he would. He pulls out his clothes and makes Richie face the door while he changes. 

“C’mon Eds, what is this? Fifth grade?” but oddly, Richie doesn’t fight it as much as Eddie expected, spinning on his heels and shucking his hands in his pockets. Usually it’s all, _Ooh, Eds, what’re ya hidin’? Don’t be shy, baby, take it all off! Yahoo!!_ It’s all sorts of mortifying, especially when other people are around and they all start smiling like there’s some inside joke Eddie’s not a part of. He’s started to feel like that a lot, recently, around the other Losers. He yanks the shirt he put out for today off its hanger with mild irritation.

Like, when he yells at Richie for the latest inane thing he’s pulled Eddie will catch Bev and Mike trading glances and grinning. Or, or, one time Richie doodled _“R.T. + E.K. = <3 4evr”_ all over his chemistry notes, and Eddie lectured him for a solid twelve minutes before Stan--fucking _Uris_ \--reminded him that he could just erase it. Eddie spluttered and faltered and snapped his mouth shut at the expression gracing not only Stan’s, but (to his horror) Bill and Richie’s faces too. And--arguably the most embarrassing of recent events--last week, Richie pressed a disgustingly sticky kiss to Eddie’s cheek after eating a popsicle and Eddie, Lord help him, didn’t even _say_ anything. He was probably in shock, he doesn’t know, but Ben must’ve interpreted his silence as something _more_ because he waggled his eyebrows at Eddie over the table and Eddie’s face just about burst into flames, it got so red. 

Whatever the hell Ben’s implying...it doesn’t matter. He digs around to find bottoms that match his shirt. Eddie’s dealt with the strange dynamic between him and Richie for years now by aggressively clamping down any feelings that even begin to toe the line of fond. The idea that Richie might...that he could...it’ll never happen. Literally. It couldn’t. Eddie’s pretty sure Richie’s first word was “boobs.”

But it doesn’t fucking help, Eddie thinks furiously as he shoves his legs into his shorts, that half the shit out of Richie’s mouth is how cute Eddie looks, what a catch he is, how much Richie loves him. It’s all some big fucking joke that Eddie’s the butt of, and he’s sick of it! Richie needs to cut that shit out real quick. Someone’s gonna overhear and then they’ll really be in some deep shit. God forbid his mom catches wind of this bull. 

He can totally see her storming in, brandishing her rosary and Bible like weapons and screeching about “God’s plan” for him. Like his mom gives a flying fuck about what God thinks. He’s pretty sure the last time they went to church she was still stuffing him full with gazebos. Still, she’d take allegations against Eddie’s sexuality pretty seriously, and next thing you know he’s got a one way ticket to conversion camp.

God dammit, Richie really can’t keep his mouth shut! And now Eddie’s all worked up from some hypothetical scenario, because the real Richie is actually quite nicely not making a peep as he stares at Eddie’s bedroom door.

“You can turn around now,” Eddie says gruffly.

Richie spins back, and his eyebrows rise when he catches sight of Eddie’s clothes. 

“...What,” Eddie asks, preparing himself for whatever crack Richie's about to make against his outfit.

It doesn’t come. “Is that...my old Van Halen shirt?” he asks, blinking as he eyes Eddie up and down. 

Eddie is suddenly, stupidly embarrassed. “Yeah, so? You never came back ‘round for it, and it’s comfy, so…”

Richie blinks again, and a slow smile stretches across his face. He bobs his head appreciatively. “I...it’s a nice look on you, Kaspbrack. I like it.” There are two light spots of pink on his cheeks which Eddie tries to ignore. 

“It’s just ‘cuz the fair’s always so dirty,” he begins, feeling a panicked need to justify himself. “And the shirt doesn’t even fit you anymore, anyway. And I’d look like a loser if I went in a polo--”

“Jeez, Eddie, chill out,” Richie laughs, and there’s that goddamn _smile_ again. “I just said it was fine. It looks good. You look good.”

A beat of silence stretches between them, and between Richie’s words and his fucking face, gazing at him in the early light--Eddie’s face heats up, and his defenses rise once more.

“Whatever, Tozier.” It’s lame, but all he can manage because Richie still has that soft look plastered on. He’s probably just taking the piss out of him, anyway. 

“Ooh, last names! Am I in the doghouse?” Just like that, moment broken. _Assuming_ , Eddie corrects himself, _there even was a moment. Or anything remotely sentimental_. Whatever it was, it dies instantly as Richie flops dramatically back onto the bed, hand resting against his forehead and a pout on his face. “My heart is too weak to handle our little lover’s spat. Eddie, my darling, come back to me!” He makes grabby-hands at Eddie, mouth puckered.

Eddie rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to breathe steady, and hide his blush. He exhales, and all the while Richie blows him kisses from the bed. “I’m not awake enough for this shit,” he mumbles. Richie laughs.

\--

Eddie gazes at the mountain of food before him, mouth watering. Waffles, eggs, a pitcher of juice and a whole pile of bacon--Mrs. Denbrough is a godsend.

Mike whistles through his teeth. “Seriously, Mrs. D--this is too much.”

“Oh, hush,” says Bill’s mom, and she pats Mike on the cheek fondly. “It was no trouble at all! I like feeding all my little ducks.” She ruffles Bev’s hair, and Bev laughs. 

“Mom,” Bill groans, embarrassed. “Don’t cuh-call them that.”

“Don’t listen to Bill, Mrs. D,” Richie cuts in, clapping him on the back. “He’s just grumpy because he has to drive this year.”

“Parking’s expensive!”

“Stan’ll cover it, won’t ya, Stan the Man?”

“We’re all splitting it, motormouth,” Stan grumbles, and he swivels in his chair to face Bill’s mom. “Thanks again, Mrs. Denbrough. It’s really sweet of you to send us off like this every year.” The rest of them chorus their thank you’s as well, taking their place around the island in Bill’s kitchen. Before she can respond, there’s a rumbling overhead that Eddie identifies as feet thundering down the stairs. 

“Mom!” screeches a little voice, and Georgie skids into the room on his socks. “Mom, look! See, see, I woke up early! Bill and his friends are still here!”

“Hi Georgie,” Stan greets, spreading butter on his waffle and smiling.

“Heya, Stanny,” Georgie begins, spinning to face him. “Do you think this year I could--”

“No,” says Bill abruptly, and Georgie scowls. 

“You didn’t even let me ask!”

“Yeah, Bill, let the kid speak.” Ben says, laughing a little bit. 

“W-we all know what he’s go-going to say, anyway,” Bill defends, but he and Stan are grinning at each other. Eddie laughs too, because he knows what’s coming. Georgie is, apparently, always one for routine.

Mrs. Denbrough sighs from her spot at the kitchen sink. “Georgie, honey, we talked about this. Maybe next year I can take you with your friends, but I don’t think you can tag along with these guys, okay?”

“But Mo- _om_ ,” Georgie whines, pout on his face. “You said that every year! And I’m ten now! Double-digits!”

“Double-digits,” Bev says, sounding impressed. “You’re getting pretty old, Georgie.”

“I _know_ ,” Georgie says, giving Bev a ‘can-you-believe-this’ look. “That’s why it’s not fair that you guys get to go every year without me.”

“Not fair? Are you even tall enough to ride the rides, Georgie-Porgie?” Eddie teases. 

“Are you?” Richie shoots back from across the table, and even Mrs. Denbrough laughs.

“He’s definitely not,” Bill says, and hooks an arm around Georgie’s head. “C’mon, kiddo, g-give it up. I’m not t-taking you.” He rubs his knuckles against Georgie’s hair, and the kid squeals. 

“Mike wants me to come, doesn’t he?” Georgie tries, wriggling out of Bill’s grasp and padding over to where Mike stands next to Eddie. “And Ben’s the nicest--he won’t say no.” 

“Why, George Denbrough,” Mike says, placing a hand over his heart. “I had no idea you were such a little devil.”

“I’m not!” Georgie laughs, and he hangs off Mike’s arm. “I wanna go with you guys! I wanna eat funnel cake and hot dogs...and, um, go in the haunted house…”

“You’re much too young to be doing those things alone right now, Georgie,” Mrs. Denbrough says, shaking her head. “I can’t let you go off without adult supervision.” Georgie turns big puppy-dog eyes on the rest of the Losers, and Eddie has to clamp his mouth shut from joining Georgie’s side and whining at Bill and his mom.

Ben smiles sadly down at him, apparently immune. “Maybe next year, Georgie.”

“Yeah, sweetpea, you know it’s not up to us,” Richie says, looking sad, and Eddie’s heart lurches annoyingly at the pet name. It’s absurdly adorable for some reason, coming out of Richie’s mouth. 

Georgie’s entire face deflates at the rejection, and Eddie can physically see the fight go out of him. He feels a bit like pouting, himself, looking at the expression on Georgie’s face. 

“You guys are so mean,” he grumbles, head hanging low, but in the next moment he’s shrieking with laughter because Bev caught him by his waist and danced her fingers up his ribcage. 

“Alright, Georgie,” Mrs. Denbrough says, after the ensuing mini tickle-fight dies down. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for the day, hm? I’ll call Timmy’s mom and see if you two can have a playdate today.”

“YES!” Georgie shouts, the fair evidently forgotten as he pushes through Ben and Richie and sprints up the stairs. 

Bill shakes his head at his mother. “I swear, every ye-year he gets worse and worse.”

“Oh, hush, Bill,” his mother chides. “He’s almost the age _you_ were when you started going to the fair. Honestly,” she grumbles to herself, padding into the adjoining living room to use the phone, “I don’t know _what_ I was thinking when you boys were eleven, sending you off the whole day without supervision all those years ago...”

“She was thinking we had a lot more sense than Georgie does,” Richie says to the rest of them, tapping his head. “Y’know--street smarts.”

Stan barks out a laugh. “No, we didn’t,” he says, spooning eggs into his mouth. “We just had strength in numbers to annoy everyone into letting us go.” 

Bev leans onto the counter. “What did you guys even do?” she says, interested. “I can’t even remember what you were like at that age.” 

“Oh, mostly nothing,” Stan answers for all of them. “Just messed around until someone picked us up. We were all shitheads--sorry, Mrs. D,” he says sheepishly when her head pokes into the doorway, frowning. Ben shakes his head disapprovingly at him when she returns to her call.

Eddie snorts. “Stan’s right. We’d just buy a lot of cotton candy and then ride the Frisbee until someone puked.”

“ _Someone_ ,” Richie scoffs, making finger quotes. “Eds, that was always _you_.”

“Doesn’t really sound any different from what we do now,” Mike comments, side-eyeing him, and Eddie half-heartedly punches him in the shoulder, biting his cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

“Buzz off, Hanlon.” 

Mrs. Denbrough comes in a while later, while they’re finishing up breakfast. “So, Georgie will be off to play with little Timmy Clark from down the street for the day, hopefully that will distract him a bit. Honestly, Bill,” she says, looking to her oldest as she runs the tap, “it doesn’t quite matter now, I suppose, but it is a bit of a hassle working around Georgie’s moods every year. Why is it an issue to bring him with you to the fair? I’m a little surprised, since you two usually get along so well.”

“Bill doesn't want Georgie to come because he wants to hit on chicks,” Richie announces.

“He’s k-kidding, Mom,” Bill says quickly, but when her back is turned he and Richie wiggle their fingers at each other. Eddie rolls his eyes.

Ben seems to share his sentiment. “Please,” he scoffs, pouring syrup on the last bit of his waffle. “When was the last time you two even held eye contact with a girl who isn't Bev?” 

“I think I saw Bill stay after class and ask Mrs. Donnelly a question once,” Mike offers, and Eddie and Bev laugh. 

“Shut it,” Bill says, flushing under the look his mom is giving him. “They’re ju-just messing around, Mom. Here, we can do the plates, you already m-made breakfast.” 

His words jump-start the rest of them into action as Mrs. Denbrough goes upstairs to get ready for the day, clearing up glasses and silverware, scarfing down the last of the food like they’re not going to immediately march over to the funnel cake stand the moment they set foot onto the fairground. It doesn’t take too long to get the Denbrough kitchen back into working order, with seven of them working hard--although it’s definitely more like six, with how slowly Bill and Richie wipe down the table. Their work ethic probably combines to be equivalent of one person. Bill can get away with being lazy with clean-up since it’s his house, Eddie supposes, but Richie’s just an ass. He snaps him with the dish towel as he passes. 

“Yow!” Richie yelps, like a goddamn cartoon. He rubs his lower back--okay, so what, Eddie hit him in the ass, it’s not like he can _control_ where exactly the towel would end up--and grins at him. “Kinky, Eds. Didn’t know you were into that.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, heating up when Stan snorts. “Just hurry, ‘cuz I wanna leave.”

“Whatever you wish, my love,” Richie says, but surprisingly, he kicks it into high-gear and wipes down the counter in half the time it took to clean the table. 

“Get you a man as whipped as Rich,” Bev jokes to Ben, and Richie flips her off. 

It’s approaching eleven in the morning when they finally get their shit in order enough to cram themselves into Bill’s van. It’s a seven seater, passed onto Bill last summer when Mr. Denbrough finally bought a new car after almost fifteen years. It’s a dark forest green, and the doors don’t lock correctly unless they’re properly slammed, and it smells musty as fuck no matter how many air fresheners Bill hangs from the mirror. Eddie hates it.

Well, that’s a lie. He doesn’t hate it _completely_ , but only because it’s his primary mode of transportation until he gets a car of his own (which, knowing Sonia, isn’t happening anytime soon). He actually doesn’t mind sitting up front with Bill to and from school, feeling almost cool as they blast music, but when someone has the bright idea to cram them all inside the van is literal hell for Eddie. He can’t help but scowl as he stuffs himself into his seat.

For some reason, there’s an awful, pre-set seating arrangement which has Richie, Eddie, and Bev stuffed in the back bench. Richie _always_ has to sit in the middle because his legs don’t fit behind Ben and Mike’s seats. The argument is that Eddie and Bev are the smallest, and therefore the only ones who can somewhat fit in the back--which is total bullshit. It’s a fucking German-made minivan. This shit was built big for a reason. Stan’s much smaller than Richie but claimed shotgun once and hasn’t budged. Eddie always tries to fight for a different spot but is always shot down. 

To be honest, he doesn’t mind the fact that the seat is in the _back_ , not really...it’s just, Richie always spreads out and jams himself all up on Eddie’s side, arms and legs pressed together almost forcefully. It’s probably just circumstantial. Most likely, he’s doing the same to Bev on the other side, but she never seems as squished as Eddie feels. Even right now, Richie’s leaning heavily onto him. His whole body is tilted sideways, all his weight bearing down...actually, he’s really forcing Eddie close to the window. _What the hell..._ Eddie cranes his neck and catches sight of Bev, comfortably settled in her seat and an actual, visible gap between her and Richie.

“Richie!” Eddie hisses, not wanting to cut off Ben in the middle of his conversation with Mike and Bev. “What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!”

“Hm?” Richie hums, feigning ignorance. “What ever do you mean?” His head flops sideways on top of Eddie’s and he laughs. 

“Oh my God, Richie,” Eddie whines, shoving at Richie’s side. “Do you have to irritate me every second of every goddamn day?” 

“Yes.”

“Rich! Ugh, I just--” Eddie turns slightly in his seat, ready to tell Richie off, but Richie has apparently turned to jello and adjusts to drape himself all over Eddie’s front. “Quit messing around! We’re in the fucking car.” 

“I’m so tired, Eds, c’mon, lemme rest up before the fair.” Eddie opens his mouth to fire off a retort but can’t find the right words when Richie drops his head onto his shoulder, complete with fake snoring. 

Bev laughs and Eddie shoots her a look. “Don’t encourage him,” he says over Richie’s shoulder.

Bev smiles at him. “I don’t think he needs much more...encouragement.” Eddie flushes at her tone, but surprisingly, Richie pulls back immediately, facing Bev.

“Bev, shut up,” he says, settling into his seat normally. “Jesus, can’t even have a bit of fun back here.”

“I’m sure you guys could have a lot of fun if you tried,” Bev says and Richie pinches her arm, twisting until she squawks and slaps at him. Eddie groans, facing away from their antics.

“It’s only funny when I say that shit,” Richie is saying, and Bev’s responding laughter is muffled. He probably has her in a headlock. Eddie sighs. Bev and Richie can be really fucking rowdy when they want to be but why they chose to rile each other up in the back bench of Bill’s car is beyond his understanding.

\--

They make it to the fair in one piece, which is surprising considering Richie and Bev kept pinching and hitting each other with enough force to jostle Mike. They kept at it until he turned around and smacked Richie hard on the arm, which only led to a mini-war in the backseat. Eddie didn’t want to yell, he really _didn’t_ , but Richie’s stupid fucking arm knocked his head into the window in the ensuing battle and it _really_ hurt so of course he had to join in. It was total chaos until Stan roared at all of them to shut up so “Bill can drive in peace and Ben can have a normal fucking car ride for once, thanks.”

They all split parking as promised, even Richie, grumbling for show when he passed up wadded-up bills from his pocket.

“Well, what do you guys want to do first?” Ben claps his hands together, smiling at all of them like a proud dad when they finally make it to the entrance to the fair. What he has to be proud of, Eddie has no idea. Not even ten minutes ago Stan was threatening to chop off Richie’s hair and feed it to Bev.

“I think we should split up,” says Stan. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Mike and Bev force me into that stupid fucking house of mirrors bullshit again.”

Bev cackles. “C’mon, Stan! That’s like, tradition. You have to come!” 

“No way!” Stan shakes his head vigorously, but he’s grinning. “You guys know how badly that fucks with my head.”

“That’s the best part though,” Mike argues. “Watching you slam into every possible glass wall.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Eds’n I are gonna head to the midway games,” Richie announces, grabbing Eddie’s wrist. 

“When did I agree to that?” Eddie asks, but he lets Richie’s hand stay. If he tugs out of his hold, Richie’ll put up a fuss which will only draw attention to their position and Bill will smile in that all-knowing way that makes Eddie heat up like he’s suddenly wearing five extra layers. “I want to hang out with Bill and Ben.”

“Oh!” Bill says, looking surprised. “Uh, y-yeah. Sure.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What,” he asks, quirking a brow. “Do you have other plans, or something?”

“No, I just...I wuh-was thinking I’d jus-st sort of wander a-around, you know...s-see the si-ights. Take it s-slow,” Bill says, ruffling his hair and avoiding everyone’s eyes. 

“You’re so fucking weird,” Stan says, giving Bill an odd look. “‘See the sights’? What sights? It’s the same damn fair each year.” Bill shrugs at him, grinning a little helplessly, and Stan’s eyebrows raise. 

“I think that’s Bill-code for...um, talking to girls,” Ben says softly, blushing a bit like he’s the one who should be embarrassed and not Bill, who apparently only showed up to chat up whatever poor girls happens to give him the time of day. Eddie looks at Bill, shocked when he nods at Ben’s statement, face caught between an awkward grimace and amusement. He makes eye contact with Eddie and breaks out into laughter at his expression.

“Ugh, gross, Bill,” Bev says, wrinkling her nose. “Could you have phrased that like...any less creepy?”

“I d-didn’t know wuh-what to say!” Bill protests, but he and Richie are still laughing like the gigantic tools they are. Eddie rolls his eyes at Mike. “I couldn’t juh-just be l-like, ‘see ya, guys, I heard Olivia J-jennings from APUSH was g-guh-gonna show up today t-too.’” 

“You’re the worst,” Eddie says, and leans up to flicks Bill’s forehead. “Like, my god, Bill. Have a day off.” Bill only grins down at him, unashamed and smiling big, tall and sturdy and so, so handsome. Eddie can admit it. He’s not fucking blind.

Bill’s always been cute, they all know it, and as high school wore on, everyone else in their bumfuck high school got their heads out of their asses and realized it too. Confidence looks unfairly good on Bill, but even with the influx of attention that only seems to increase with every month, he’s still Big Bill at heart. The steadfast leader of their group; headstrong and loyal to a fault, always ready to lend an ear to a friend, a quality of his Eddie has taken advantage of multiple times throughout the years of their friendship. He used to have a bit of hero-worship for Bill, when they were kids--to tiny Eddie, Bill had not only hung the moon, but carefully placed every star in the clear skies of Derry. Eddie looks at him joking around with the other Losers, his entire face crinkled up in happiness and thinks maybe the hero-worship probably hasn’t completely faded. So fucking what. It would be a crime to _not_ put Bill on some sort of pedestal, anyway. 

“Alrighty then,” Richie calms himself down enough to smile at them all. “So Billiam’s off to sweep blushing young maidens faire off their little feet while you guys are gonna try to actively kill Stan, which, I must say, I support one-hundred percent, give a shout if you need a hand--”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Stan grumbles.

“And I’m off with Thelma and Louise to throw my money at the same stack of bottles I’ve been knocking down since before I had braces.” Richie grins, obviously pleased at his little speech, so Eddie flips him off in an attempt to keep him somewhat humble. Richie thinks he’s so clever.

“Thelma and Louise?” Ben says, rubbing his chin. “That’s...a really weird comparison to make, Richie.”

Richie shrugs at him, and then slings an arm over both Eddie and Ben’s shoulders, reaching around to chuck both of them under the chin. “Never actually seen it, Haystack. Let’s get a move on!”

Richie ends up making a spectacular fool of himself at the midway games, carrying out increasingly elaborate schemes to trick both the workers and the game to win ridiculously useless prizes. Eddie’s laughing so hard he doesn’t even mind when they get yelled at for holding up lines and for their destructive behavior. Even Ben, golden-boy Ben, can’t seem to bring himself to give a shit, wiping his eyes and face red with laughter. He even volunteers to distract one of the booths long enough for Richie to hastily hoist Eddie up long enough for him to grab a shitty water gun that, in Richie’s words, “was rightfully theirs, after the way we totally destroyed those fucking balloons, did you see how many were left?”

The water gun ends up being a bad idea because Richie keeps waving the damn thing around, shooting anyone and everyone who is unfortunate enough to walk by within range. Lucky for him, it’s hot enough outside that most people just laugh in good humor, grateful for a small respite. However, “most people” doesn’t include Eddie, who yanks the damned thing out of Richie’s hand after Richie shoots water directly into his ear for the upteenth time. 

“God’s sake, Rich! Give it a rest! You’re annoying Ben.”

“Is he?” Ben says from Richie’s other side. “My ears are perfectly dry, so I’m fine. Carry on, Richie.”

Eddie gapes at the betrayal, shaking his head when Richie reaches out for the toy. “Nuh-uh. No way!” He dances out of the way, dodging Richie’s advances. 

“You heard Hanscom. Cough it up, Eds,” Richie grins, darting out to snatch it back, but Eddie’s quick to hide it behind himself.

Eddie can feel his stern facade crack into a smile as Richie leans into him, making to grab the gun out from where its pressed against his back. He lets his hands rest on Eddie’s, clasping his elbows in a half-assed attempt to twist Eddie’s arms out of their locked position. It’s obvious Richie’s not really trying at all, and they’re both laughing, and when Eddie looks up, Richie’s stupid hair is flopping into his face and escaping from behind his ears. 

“C’mon, Eddie, baby,” Richie cajoles, obviously joking, but the word _baby_ jolts Eddie and suddenly Richie’s too close to his face. He abruptly shoves him backward with an embarrassed cough and tosses the water gun to an amused Ben. 

“Ben is the most responsible,” he mutters, avoiding looking at Richie directly. Slowly, his hands let go of Eddie’s arms, his fingers trailing down Eddie’s forearm lightly before stepping away. Not that he particularly cares. He just happened to notice the gesture, is all. “You can have it back when we go home.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Richie teases, breaking the awkward atmosphere, and they continue walking. He pretends to think for a minute. “Or would you prefer ‘daddy’? I know what you get up to at night, Kinky Kaspbrack.”

Eddie growls, clapping a hand over his eyes. Richie is literally such a fucking dumbass. “Ugh! You are so gross, you know that?”

“That was kind of funny,” Ben admits, and holds his hands up in defense when Eddie glowers at him. “Not the--uh, Kinky Kaspbrack stuff, though.”

“‘Kind of’?” Richie repeats, ruffling Ben’s hair. “You really know how to charm em, Benny boy.”

Ben checks his watch. “I think Bev wanted us all to regroup near the food stands in a few, so if you guys are done here…”

Eddie starts to say that he’s ready to go as well but Richie cuts him off with a yell, pointing. “No, wait, guys! I _have_ to do the ring toss, seriously, it’s like practically tradition.”

“Sure thing, Richie,” Ben says easily, and Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding.

“Go get em, I guess.”

“Excellent! Love the support!” Richie swivels so he’s walking backwards, facing Ben and Eddie as they make their way to the last booth. “By the way, this is the pièce de résistance, before we meet up with everyone again. Eddie-bear,” he winks, “this one’s for you.” 

“Richie! Quit fucking calling me that!” Eddie huffs, trying to mask his blush with anger, but Richie’s already striding up to the counter and sliding two tickets over. Ben nudges him, smiling so wide Eddie would think it was Ben Richie was teasing, not himself. 

“Watch carefully, boys,” Richie says when they join him. He shoots a bright smile at Eddie before windmilling his arms and letting the little rubber ring fly in a high arc before it gracefully loops around a peg. He beams at them, proud.

“Nice, Richie,” Ben says, but Eddie scoffs.

“What kind of technique was that, anyway?” he says. 

“I’d like to see you do better,” Richie counters as he concentrates on his next toss, rocking on his heels and winding his arm back. “It works, doesn’t it?” He lets loose again, and Eddie’s surprised when ring number two is successful as well. He doesn’t join in when Ben claps, though. Like Richie needs any more blind support of his antics.

“Alright, high stakes,” Richie says, making the sign of the cross over the final ring. “Don’t let me down, now.” Eddie is startled when he shoves the stupid thing in his face. “Kiss it.”

Eddie splutters. “What? Why the fuck would I do that?” 

“For good luck, honey-bear. Isn’t that a thing? The pretty girl kisses dice, or whatever? Back me up, Benny.”

“I think so?” Ben tries, squinting at the sky like the clouds will give him answers. 

“I’m not putting my lips on that dirty thing,” Eddie snaps, hands on his hips. “And--by the way--emphasis on _girl_ , Richie. That superstition shit doesn’t work if you half-ass it.”

Richie grins at him. “Nah, emphasis on _pretty_. C’mon, all that fluffy hair and those big eyes? My heart, she’s a-stolen.” He leans over and pinches Eddie’s cheek, laughing when Eddie yanks himself backward. “Do it for me, Eddie-boo.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fine!” Eddie grumbles, face red as he reaches out and snatches the stupid ring out of Richie’s hand. He kisses the offending item hurriedly, shoving it back. “I only did that to shut you up, by the way. Lord knows you would’ve kept whining for hours.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie says, and claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, right near his neck. His fingers are hot on his skin, burning, almost. “Thanks, Eddie.” He squeezes once and releases him, rotating his entire arm and shoulder in an over-the-top display before letting go. Ben and Eddie watch silently as the ring travels through the air, almost suspended at the height of its arc, before, once again, hitting home. 

“Yeehaw!!” Richie cheers, grabbing Ben’s hands and doing a little dance. Eddie shakes his head, but he’s smiling. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, crossing his arms when Richie pauses with Ben still in his grasp. “That was kind of cool. I said kind of!” He hastily adds when Richie drops Ben’s hands and advances towards him. 

“Always so hot and cold, huh, Spaghetti Head,” Richie says, flicking Eddie in the ear as he reaches over the counter to claim his prize. Eddie claps a hand over his ear and frowns at what Richie’s holding. It’s a small stuffed dog, a little heard clutched between its paws. Privately, Eddie thinks it’s cute. He’s surprised Richie picked it out.

“I thought you’d go for the lightsaber,” Ben comments, voicing Eddie’s thoughts.

“Under normal circumstances, sure, but what’s my little good luck charm gonna do with a lightsaber?” Richie says, and he turns around and hands the fucking stuffed animal to Eddie. “For you, sweetcheeks.”

“What?” Eddie says, and immediately scowls. “I don’t want that stupid fucking thing. Give it to Ben.”

“I would, but Ben’s taken, and I don’t want to be the one to send Bev on a warpath.” Richie slings his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and leans in to shake the dog vigorously in Eddie’s face. It’s a lame excuse, and everyone knows it. “C’mon, Eds. I won it for you.”

Eddie doesn’t want to be charmed. He _doesn’t_. He pushes Richie off and glares at him. Richie is so full of shit. This is just some stupid fucking joke, like Eddie’s some dumbass placeholder for a girl that Richie can just win over-- _snap_ \--like that, with minimal effort. Why Richie doesn’t bring an actual _girl_ that he can show off in front of is a mystery. He just pulls this shit for practice so that when the time comes he doesn’t look like an idiot, Eddie knows it, but Earth to Richie--it’s completely emasculating! And fucking rude. Because Eddie’s not a girl. They’re both _boys_. So Richie can just shove off.

Except Richie’s not really mean-spirited at all, and for some reason he seems pretty fucking genuine, if the wavering confidence on his face is anything to go by as he stands silently in front of Eddie, arm outstretched and the damn puppy still clutched in his hand. 

Eddie scowls harder, and snatches it from Richie. “Whatever--quit giving me that look, I’ll take it, alright? Jesus,” he gripes, petting the dog’s ears to avoid the face Ben is certainly making at him. “Now shut up about it so we can meet everyone else.”

“Aw, I knew you’d love it, Eds!” Richie says, and he’s back in Eddie’s space, tugging him close with one arm. Eddie lets it happen. “Whatcha gonna do with him?”

“First of all, it’s a girl dog, okay? So get that right. And I don’t know,” Eddie sighs, and he bumps Richie playfully. “Put her on my window, I guess, like a guard dog. Have her chase away all intruders.”

Richie clutches a hand to his chest in a mockery of heartbreak. “Eddie! You love my nightly visits.”

“I love uninterrupted sleep more.”

“Hey, at least he didn’t deny that there’s a part of him that loves it, though,” Ben elbows Richie, and he spins to face him, grinning big. 

“Up top, Haystack! You got a point--there’s still a chance, bro!” He and Ben slap hands, laughing like douches. Eddie groans and hides his scream into the dog’s fur.

\--

When they meet up with the others, it’s just Stan, Bev, and Mike hanging out behind the burger stand, and they join in the conversation easily. While Ben recounts their midway adventures and Richie disappears to grab food, Eddie glances to where Bill’s a few yards away at a different trailer, chatting up the funnel cake girl. 

They look like the picture of quintessential Maine. Bill’s pretty good-looking, in that all-American way, with his easy smile and blue eyes. He looks like he should be homecoming king, football captain--except Bill is probably the least active person Eddie knows. He’s seen him spend an entire weekend playing Sega and gorging on junk food on this disgusting couch he and Mike dragged into the Denbrough’s garage. Eddie doubts Bill even knows what their school mascot is. Stan went on a lecture about how DHS’s school spirit is actually a gateway for the toxic enforcing of gender roles at a pep rally once, and Bill nodded and listened like he actually gave a shit.

The girl’s pretty, with dark hair--but not as pretty as Bev, of course. Eddie doesn't think anyone can even come close to Bev’s beauty. He’s probably a little bit biased, but--it's _Bev_. Who wouldn't be? Why the hell she's still rolling around with the rest of them is a complete mystery. 

Well, alright. Mike’s pretty cool, and Ben’s kinda handsome, too, especially now that he’s all bearded up. Richie just has really lame scruff that itches if you get too close. Eddie bets it would itch if Richie nuzzled into him, and then backtracks. Why’s he suddenly comparing Richie to Ben, anyway? He doesn’t even notice he’s still zoning out until a voice cuts in. _Speak of the devil..._

“Why th’fuck’re ya droolin’ over Bev?” Richie asks through a mouthful of food. He’s got popcorn in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. He shoves the pizza back into his mouth, fingers twisted around the crust because Richie’s the kind of maniac that eats pizza folded in half. 

“I’m not drooling, moron,” Eddie snaps, and steals a handful of popcorn. “I thought you weren’t supposed to eat this shit with that metalmouth of yours.”

“I’ve mastered the art of consuming those pesky little kernels with minimal trouble,” Richie boasts, and dumps more into his mouth. “The trick is a lot more inhaling, a lot less chewing. Besides, who gives a shit what ol’ Went says? These pearls are past saving, anyway. His words, not mine.” He quirks his mouth up in an effort to seem uncaring, but Eddie’s not an idiot.

He frowns. “Rich, shut up. Your teeth are fine. Your dad’s just a dick.”

Richie sighs. “Is he, though? I’ve had these damn things on for forever, and I’m not getting them off anytime soon. I’ll probably die with this fucking overbite, dude.” He laughs like it’s some joke and suddenly Eddie’s pissed. Richie’s teeth are an endless source of insecurity for him, and it really gets on Eddie’s nerves when his dad talks about them like they somehow makes Richie less of a person.

“So fucking what?” Eddie barks, facing Richie. “Your dad doesn’t know shit, alright? You could have the straightest, whitest teeth in the world and he’d still say some bullshit about them. Besides, they don’t even look bad or anything. You wouldn’t be Richie without them and even if you hate your teeth, I don’t. So how about you shut up ‘cuz you know what? It’s actually insulting that you think they’re so ugly because I think they look great. Are you insulting my taste, Rich, huh? Huh? You think I have no sense of what looks good, is that it?” 

During his rant, a smile had slowly worked its way across Richie’s face, and he stands there beaming like Eddie’s words are the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. “You like my teeth?”

Eddie can’t help it--he blushes. “Yeah,” he says, jutting his chin out. “What of it?”

Richie just smiles at him--that rare smile again, sweet and so purely genuine, like this morning in his room. Eddie doesn’t return the expression, but he doesn’t glare back, either. For some ridiculous fucking reason he’s caught staring--which is like, who gives a shit? Why should he? Richie is genuine all the fucking time. About shit like weed and video games and making Eddie’s life hell. Him smiling like that doesn't mean...anything. Eddie scowls to himself. Even in his own goddamn mind Richie annoys him. 

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice is too soft for Eddie to handle, so just he nods awkwardly and brushes past to go stand next to Bev. Richie lets him, and after he settles against the wall of the trailer she’s leaning against he watches as Richie takes off to bother Stan where he stands with Mike and Ben for a lick of his ice cream.

Richie’s such an enigma, seriously. What’s the deal with all this...this... _flirting_ nonsense? Because that’s definitely what it is, right? Why can’t he be _normal_ and talk to girls, instead? Why is it always _Eddie_ Richie insists on making fun of? And why does he give this much of a shit? He watches Richie laugh with his head thrown back as Ben’s ice cream falls and splatters over Mike’s shoes. Eddie knows if he pursues these thoughts he’ll voice certain...things he’s not entirely comfortable or ready to bring to light, but Richie makes it really fucking difficult sometimes, with his floppy hair and his height and those stupid, secret smiles he seems to pull out just in front of Eddie. _Fucking hell...if Richie...if he could just..._

Eddie jolts when Bev knocks her shoulder into his, smirking, and he quickly schools his face from whatever dumbass expression he’s sure to be wearing into something more neutral.

“What,” he grouches, when her face doesn’t waver.

“Oh, nothing...it’s just, Ben told me a-a-all about Richie’s little gesture of love at the ring toss,” she sing-songs, smug expression still plastered all over. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie moans, shifting his fanny pack to the side so Bev won’t catch sight of it’s lumpy exterior and deduce that he’s stored the dog in there. “He’s just being Richie, okay? So whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

“He won a stuffed puppy for you, Eddie. That’s pretty big.”

“Are you just jealous cuz Ben kept all his prizes for himself?” Eddie asks, to divert the attention away. 

“I’ve already wooed Ben, we don’t need those grand gestures to prove anything anymore,” Bev says. “Rich, on the other hand--”

“Bev, shut _up_ , oh my God.” Eddie’s flustered, cutting her off before she can finish her thought. 

“Hmm,” Bev hums, finger tapping her chin. “Nope, don’t think so. C’mon, Eddie! Don’t you--”

“No!” Eddie says. “No, Bev, I _‘don’t’_ anything, alright? Can you just…” He inhales deeply. “Can we just talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Bev says easily, but she points in Eddie’s face. “But we aren’t done here. I know you, Kaspbrack--you’re totally charmed, I can tell. So I’ll wait like the good friend I am with open arms until you decide to come to me for some much needed girl talk, because Lord knows you need it. You can’t live in denial forever, Eddie!”

 _Oh yes_ , Eddie thinks as she saunters over to the boys and throws her arms around Ben. Richie looks up and makes eye contact with him, waving madly to call him over. Eddie is decidedly not pleased with the attention. _Watch me, Bev. I totally and completely can._

\--

The thing is, even if Eddie _did_ have a crush on Richie (not that he does, this is purely hypothetical) even, by some weird circumstance, he _did_ \--

Well. Richie definitely doesn’t--wouldn’t--didn’t--oh, what _ever_. Richie doesn’t like him like that, plain and simple. He’s too keen on the girls in their grade, too supportive of Pam Grier, too in love with his poster of Cindy Crawford. A small part of Eddie thinks that Richie’s got him figured out and is playing some giant, dickish, drawn-out joke on him. Richie’s no bully--he would _never_ \--but still. Real life doesn’t work out like in the movies. Richie probably likes the attention Eddie is always gives, even though it’s hidden behind scowls and yelling and punching. Because it’s pretty obvious, even to Eddie, that he’s always willing to give Richie the damn time of the day. So he goes through the motions and keeps himself in check because even though it’s starting to get harder to ignore Richie’s advances, joking or not, nothing can be more mortifying than the inevitable reality where Richie rejects him outright.

Which is why he refuses when Richie asks him to go on the ferris wheel before they pile into Bill’s car to head home.

“C’mon, Eds! I’ve been waiting all day to ride with you!” Richie whines for the fifth time, tugging on Eddie’s arm. “Don’t hold everyone up while you pretend to think about it before saying yes.”

They’re standing near the exit with the rest of the Losers, everyone absorbed in their own conversations and thankfully not paying attention to the growing tension between Eddie and Richie. 

“Shut up!” Eddie says, scowling and tugging his hand back, annoyed. “I’m not _pretending_ anything, alright? Why would I want to go up there with you?”

Richie looks pained for a brief second, before flashing him a smile. “Eddie, come on, man. I have something to show you, okay?”

“Show it to me here.”

“I can’t.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “Then I’m not going. Either show me here or not at all. I’m not gonna lug myself onto that death trap so you can like, burp in my ear at the top or some dumb shit.”

“I’m not gonna--ugh!” Richie cuts himself off with a groan, hands clutched in his hair. “Eddie, God, for once can you just cooperate?”

“No, I can’t,” Eddie says smugly. 

Richie groans again, throwing his hands in the air. “ _Why_ , though? Why don’t you want to come?”

Eddie falters. _Because you didn’t ask anyone else. Because everyone knows that people kiss at the top of the ferris wheel. Because I’m tired of being a joke to you. Because I literally can’t handle something that intimate._ “Because the last thing I want to do at the fair before going home is spend it crammed next to you on that stupid ride.” He says, sticking his nose into the air. 

Richie scowls. “Eddie, oh my God, you’re literally so annoying, do you know that? You’re not complaining when I’m ‘crammed’ next to you when I sleep over.”

“That’s different!” Eddie splutters, blushing furiously, embarrassed and a little startled. “You’re the one that--that-- _shoves_ himself into my personal space!” 

“Eddie,” Stan cuts in suddenly, hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Just go, okay? It’s not a big deal, and we’ll all wait.” Eddie gapes. Oh, so now _Stan’s_ in on whatever bullshit Richie’s about to pull? Is that it? Eddie knows they’re close, but this is _way_ too underhanded! _Fuck_ this!

“You know about this?” He starts, astonished. “I can’t believe you guys,” Eddie continues, and he feels like stamping his foot. “Ganging up on me so Richie can pull some dumb prank--”

“We’re not ganging up on you, be a little less dramatic,” Richie snaps. He’s really starting to get irritated. “Listen--it’s not a prank, alright? Can you calm your paranoid ass down for like, two fucking seconds? I just need to talk.” 

“No, I absolutely cannot!” Eddie yells. “You’re always doing shit like this--why can’t you just leave me alone?” He tries to hide how scared he is inside with anger. Richie’s looking at him like he can see through all his bullshit, and Eddie’s terrified Richie’s trying to drag him on the ferris wheel so he can expose Eddie and let him down gently. Eddie can’t even begin to handle that, so he’s fighting tooth and nail to escape whatever awful scenario is surely set to play out on the ride. 

Richie looks hurt. “Fine! I’ll leave you alone, you overdramatic asshole. Didn’t know I was such a burden to hang out with.” It’s rare that Richie lets Eddie work him up like this, rarer still that he pulls the guilt card. Eddie feels a pang of regret, but he’s too riled up to properly address his emotions. As usual, he lets his anger get in the way and take control, spinning on his heel to stalk away. 

“What happened?” Mike asks as Eddie passes by him and Bill to head to the car, the two of them exchanging concerned glances. 

“Nothing,” Eddie growls. “Everything’s perfectly peachy.” He chances a glance backward and sees Richie glaring after him. It shouldn't cut him up as much as it does, so Eddie tears his gaze away.

\--

The ride back is, objectively, awful. Eddie and Richie argue on the daily, but it’s not very common for the two of them to get into an actual, honest-to-God fight. Richie’s far too easygoing, and for all Eddie’s shrieking he’s not actually that much of a dick. They’re both constantly talking, usually to each other or the group at large, so when they spend the ride silently glaring out of the windows of the back bench with Bev stuffed between them as a barrier, it’s cripplingly awkward. The rest of them try to fill the silence, even Stan, who glared at him before he got into the front like _Eddie_ was the one who did something wrong. Bev keeps shooting him sad little looks, so he shifts so his entire body faces the window. Richie snorts. Eddie can barely keep himself from turning and snapping at him.

When Bill pulls into his driveway, Eddie practically catapults himself out of the car, adjusting his shorts and patting his hair down as he faces everyone. 

“I should be getting home,” he mutters, and Bill frowns slightly.

“Do you wuh-wanna stay f-for a bit? I th-thought we could watch a m-m-movie,” he says. 

Eddie fidgets nervously, because Richie looks sad, but even worse; he’s not even looking in Eddie’s direction, gaze trained on Bill’s front door. It’s uncomfortable, and Eddie feels the awkwardness in every fiber of his being. He wants to escape. “No thanks, Bill. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He takes off before anyone can say anything else, scurrying down the driveway and speed-walking to his own street. 

Later, when he’s in bed, the guilt settles in. He feels like a real idiot. There was no reason for him to react so harshly to Richie, but in the moment he couldn’t help it. The combination of Richie’s recent behaviour and the implications of the ferris wheel caused sudden, squeezing panic in his chest, and he lashed out. He _always_ lashes out and Richie _always_ just takes it with good humor and a bright smile, because he knows Eddie’s just an anxious, jittery mess underneath his big mouth. 

Fuck...he’s really starting to feel bad. Eddie sticks an arm under his bed and rummages around until his fingers close on a familiar strap. He draws his arm back up and grabs at his fanny pack, unzipping it and pulling out the little stuffed puppy Richie won him. _God dammit_. The thing really is unfairly cute. Eddie sighs and clutches it to his chest for a moment before hastily putting it on the pillow next to him. He’s not about to start-- _swooning_ over Richie, or something, like he’s some twelve year old girl. He just feels bad, because Richie really was nothing but nice to him all day and he went and ruined it because he’s a big fucking coward. Fuck, fuck, fucking _fuck_! Eddie doesn’t like dealing with guilt, and he _especially_ doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong. He knows tomorrow he has to apologize to Richie properly. If he’s feeling brave enough, he might even work up the courage to try and explain the reasoning behind his irrational behavior. Maybe. Okay, probably not, but even just _thinking_ about entertaining that possibility is a step forward, in Eddie’s opinion. 

He shifts to face the dog, eye level with the little heart. _Eddie_ , she seems to be saying, somehow looking reproachful in the moonlight streaming in. _You better talk to Richie tomorrow_. Eddie sighs. Figures even his dog would support that damn Trashmouth. But he knows she’s right. He can’t afford to chicken out this time.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes. “Tomorrow for sure.”

\--

_Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap._

Eddie groans and fumbles for his alarm, grabbing it and squinting at the harsh red numbering. 

7:27 am. _Wait...what the fuck..._

“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!” Eddie jolts harshly, pushing himself up on his arms and staring out his window, where Richie waits, grinning widely. 

“What…” Eddie gasps, staring. “What are you doing here?” 

Richie laughs. “What the fuck do you think?” he asks, and knocks on the window again. “It’s fair day today! Lemme in, it’s chilly. Also,” Richie smiles, and Eddie feels sick when he finishes his sentence, “I accidentally put too much weight on the gutter when climbing up and it broke, so I don’t have a foothold to get down.”

There’s a long stretch of silence in which Eddie does nothing but open and close his mouth wordlessly at Richie. Finally, he gathers himself and frowns. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asks, going over and opening the window. “What do you mean, ‘it’s fair day’?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Richie says from the floor, where he landed, just like _yesterday_ when Eddie let him in. Eddie blinks. He feels like he may be dreaming.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks. Richie barks out a laugh.

“Not at all--am I usually sneaking into your room in these dreams of yours? Flattering.” Somehow, Richie’s teasing snaps Eddie out of his stupor and he scowls at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, “I thought you were mad at me.”

Richie stands up and cocks his head to the side. “Mad? What for?”

Slowly, Eddie starts to piece it together. “ _Oh_ , I get it. You’re still mad, so you’re playing some sort of joke, right?” he begins, pacing around the room. “Well, hardy-har, Rich. I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled yesterday. You don’t need to keep up the charade anymore.”

Richie whistles, looking a little confused. “Wowza, Eds. Some dream you must’ve had to get you this apologetic. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone...anyways, put some clothes on, boy-o! Go on, hop to it! I don’t want Bill to leave without us. Also, you got any spare toothbrushes? What? I was rushing to get here, sue me!”

Eddie looks at him, feeling a slight edge of panic creeping over him. “It wasn’t a dream,” he says, furrowing his brow, breathing even. “Look, Rich--I’m sorry if I hurt you, but can you please drop the act? It’s freaking me out.”

“What act?” Richie laughs again, but he’s frowning a bit too. “Eddie, you’re half asleep. C’mon, get dressed. I don’t want to make the others wait.”

“Wait for _what_?” Eddie cries. “Don’t tell me you got them all into this stupid little scheme of yours.”

“If you call spending the day at the county fair with your friends a scheme, then I’m completely guilty,” Richie has his hands up in a surrender, grinning. “Dude, go comb your hair or something. That always calms you down.”

“I’m calm!” Eddie doesn’t want to yell, but his words come out louder than he intends. “Richie, what do you want from me? We went to the fair _yesterday_ , so whatever you’re pulling, just drop it. Are you really that mad? Because I really can’t handle this shit this early, alright?”

Richie’s starting to look a little alarmed. “Eddie, whoa, whoa, chill out. Dude, it’s just the fair. We didn’t go yesterday, what are you on about? Do you not want to go? Are you sick?” He starts forward and makes as if he’s going to touch Eddie’s forehead, but Eddie jerks backward, clutching his chest. 

“Don’t--don’t come closer,” he warns. “We went yesterday, alright? I know it.”

“No we didn't,” Richie says, and he’s looking a little anxious. 

“Yes, we did,” Eddie snaps. 

“No, Eddie--yesterday was Friday. We had school, remember?” Richie’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and he’s looking at Eddie like he’s a cornered animal he’s trying to calm. “You had a test in pre-calc, remember? And I said I’d wake you up in time to make it to Bill’s for breakfast.”

“No,” Eddie says, breathing fast. “We went yesterday, Richie, and this really isn’t funny anymore, alright? And Bill hit on girls and Stan threw up and you won the ring toss and gave me your prize. I remember, okay? So just--just--”

Richie looks vaguely surprised. “I gave you my prize?” He echoes, and smiles a little bit. “Alright, Eddie Spaghetti. Prove it.”

“W-what?”

Richie smirks. “Where’s this little prize of yours I oh-so-sweetly gifted to you, huh?”

Eddie turns to his bed and frantically runs his hands over the covers and pillow, but the little dog is nowhere to be found. “It was just here,” he mutters, throwing his covers off, even getting on his knees to check under the bed. No dice. “I had it--it was _right_ here, what the fuck, what the _fuck_.” He jumps out of his skin when Richie clamps two large hands down on his shoulders.

“Eddie, sit down, alright? I think you’re about to have a panic attack.” Richie’s peering at him, eyes wide and a little nervous.

“I’m _not_ ,” Eddie yells, even as his chest tightens and his ears pound. “Richie, get off me. Get the fuck off me!” he shouts, when Richie stays put. “Just--get out, okay? Get the fuck out, go to Bill’s, I don’t care, just leave me alone! Please!” He adds, to pacify Richie somewhat, who’s now looking _very_ nervous and a little more than panicked, himself. 

“I don’t think--”

“Go!” Eddie manages, stumbling forward and pushing Richie towards his door. “Richie, please. Just leave. I’ll meet up with you later. I can handle this.” When he smiles, he knows the fear he’s feeling is clearly broadcasted. Richie purses his lips, looking conflicted, but when Eddie adds another little _please_ he nods jerkily and lets himself out, shooting Eddie one last concerned glance through the doorway. 

“Call if you need anything. Seriously,” Richie says, and he disappears down the stairs. Eddie waits for the latch of the front door to click and hangs out for another minute or so to give Richie time to leave before he flies out of his room and down the stairs, wrenching the door open and grabbing today’s newspaper off the welcome mat. Frantically, Eddie zones in on the date.

He can’t breathe. He seriously can’t fucking breathe--where the _fuck’s_ his inhaler? Holy shit. Holy motherfucking--yesterday’s date is plastered on every goddamn page. Richie may be one for tricks but he would never drag it out this much, never allow Eddie to work himself up into such a frenzy. And there’s _no_ fucking way he has enough money to pay off the town newspaper for such a stupid joke.

Eddie slides down to the ground, back against the front door and head clutched in his hands. What’s going on? _What the fucking fuck is going on??_


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii everyone so sorry about the delay in this update! Tbh i wrote it in about four days but those days were scattered between like 6 weeks smh :( And im realizing this fic is a lot more me throwing headcanons at u than actual plot so please let me know what you honestly thought of pacing and content here--its another loong one and i didnt want it to be this long but idk rando details kept coming out. But i really hope you all love it! :)

It’s a long time before Eddie is composed enough to pick himself up off the welcome mat and head inside. He doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed since he stumbled out here, since Richie left, since he woke up in his bed this morning--no, wait, _yesterday_ \--ugh, _fuck_. Eddie scrubs at his eyes, completely out of it. Slowly he turns around, newspaper still clutched in his hand, and heads inside.

Eddie crawls back into bed, curling into his blankets for what feels like hours, mind racing. Assuming today is...is yesterday, somehow, and _fuck_ if this isn’t the weirdest possible thing Eddie’s ever lived through. If today is yesterday, then...what? Is he...stuck? Did he dream up yesterday, or…? But it definitely wasn’t a dream. It _can’t_ have been. The memories...they’re much to vivid, even the peripheral ones--none of the hazy, disconnected images of an _actual_ dream.

He can remember the smells of the fairground, fried food and the sticky-sweet smell of cotton candy and caramel apples clogging the air, mixing with the woody scent of Stan’s cologne. The sounds of kids squealing with laughter, yells that float down from the rides and the heavy, comforting warmth of the sun on his skin. Eddie rarely remembers his dreams. There’s absolutely no way yesterday was imagined. But he’s not quite sure what other solution makes sense.

So...what? Is he stuck forever in these last twenty-four hours? Or is today a one-time, blink-and-ya-miss-it type deal? Eddie wishes desperately he could pick up the phone and ring Mike or Ben, but he doesn’t even know where to begin his line of questioning, considering he can barely make heads or tails of the situation himself. And, plus--he’s undoubtedly already got Richie on his radar. The _last_ thing he needs is for Mike and Ben to think there’s something wrong with him, too. Because while he’s normally one-hundred percent down to whine at his friends and play up the dramatics, this situation is far too surreal for Eddie to pass off as even remotely on the spectrum of normalcy. With his luck they’ll cart him off to Juniper Hill by the time dinner rolls around.

He (very briefly) considers going to his mom. Eddie suddenly feels all of seven years old, wishing desperately that he could run into his mom’s arms and feel safer simply because she’s holding him. Back when he wasn’t aware of _exactly_ how controlling his mother is, she was a great source of comfort for Eddie, especially when she’d gather him in her arms and stroke his hair. They’re obviously not as close as before, considering the shit storm that is him and Sonia’s relationship, but Eddie thinks she’s better now than when he was thirteen. He feels bad for thinking it, but a secret part of Eddie misses what his mother used to be for him--unwavering support and comfort. He knows now that she’s flawed--all parents are--and that a lot of her earlier manipulation caused him to grow up more anxious and insecure than he probably should be. But she’s his _mother_. She’s not all bad. And a part of Eddie can’t help but love and miss her.

Even with her improvements, Sonia’s still a total bitch to his friends. She’s close-minded and clearly has a lot of growing to do, but still. The effort’s there, and Eddie can appreciate it. That’s gotta count for something, right? At least she isn’t forcing him to sit through soaps with her and giving him an eight o’clock curfew.

In the end, he vetoes the idea of running to his mom like some kind of baby. The rest of the Losers are out, too. Eddie can’t imagine any of them taking him seriously or being even remotely helpful, sans Ben and Mike. Bev is a solid _maybe_ \--depending on her mood. The thought of going to Richie makes Eddie feel sick with nerves. He’s been comforted by Richie before--various panic attacks scattered throughout their friendship and a few mental breakdowns in the middle of the night always lead to excessive touching from Richie. He’ll sling an arm around his shoulders, rub his arms with his broad palm, work out the tension in his neck with deft fingers. Richie running his hands over Eddie’s body is, without a doubt, the absolute _last_ thing Eddie needs right now. He’s already confused enough without his other personal issues making an appearance to the forefront of his mind and he needs a clear head to get through the fair. Looks like he’s on his own for whatever-the-fuck is going on. _Great_.

Eddie burrows deeper into the blankets. There’s not really a point to lying here, running his mind in circles. Objectively, there’s no clear answer for whatever today’s going to be--or has been-- _sheesh_ , he really can’t keep his fucking tenses straight. The _point_ is, there’s no logical explanation, and Eddie doubts the library holds any sort of answer, so he supposes the best course of action is to just...go with it. Which is not something Eddie does often, if ever. He’s not Beverly or Richie, who take life as it comes to them with, for the most part, easy grace, oh _no_. Eddie’s a worrier. And an overthinker. And at times, a neurotic planner. If his problem was a bit more common he’d definitely call up Stan for a cathartic worry-off, but he’s gonna have to make do on his own today. So this...this is going to be an exhausting day, at least mentally. But what other choice is there?

Easier said than done. He feels a wave of nausea hit and within ten seconds he’s bent over the toilet and heaving until nothing more is able to come up, throat burning. To rid himself of the disgusting, acidic smell that lingers after vomiting, Eddie hops into the shower. He doesn’t even twist the blue knob, standing under the scalding water until his entire body is read and the mirror is completely opaque from steam. The shower helps clear his head a bit. He’s still slightly on the verge of a panic attack but he’s made peace with today--at least for now. Eddie changes into the clothes for today, back on the hanger he set out two nights ago. Richie’s Van Halen shirt again, because it isn’t _technically_ dirty, and it would be too much of a hassle to try and find another shirt right now, late as he is to get to Bill’s. Obviously. And if the lingering scent of cigarette smoke calms him down and offers a thin veil of comfort, that’s for Eddie to treasure privately. His friends are none the wiser, anyway.

“Eddie?” calls his mother, and Eddie pads down the stairs and into the hallway, peeking into the kitchen where she sits at their small table and stirs sugar into her coffee. She turns and smiles at him. “Hi, darling. Have you decided to stay home today with me instead of spending time in that awful field?”

Her words seem to jump start his body on auto-pilot, even if his mind is barely functioning through the lingering fog. “No, Ma, I’m going. I just wanted to sleep in a little today. What time is it?”

She wrinkles her nose. “A little past nine, dear. Are you sure? You know, I read a newspaper article recently, and did you know that those rides rarely…”

Eddie tunes her out in favor of pouring himself a nice, big, steaming cup of coffee. In a weird, ultimately fucked-up sort of way, her words ease his mind. If, by some miracle, Richie _did_ pay off _The Derry Times_ and got everyone else to play along, there’s no way in hell he could’ve convinced Eddie’s _mom_ to join in on the hilarity. Sonia Kaspbrack would _never_ partake in any sort of nonsense pitched by Richie, especially one as anxiety-inducing and mentally strenuous as this. It’s rare that she and Richie can even hold civil eye-contact--never mind the repercussions of such a deceitful, potentially harmful prank.

The irony isn’t lost on Eddie--medications, and all that. But this, objectively, is different, and her words are a pathetic comfort that at the very least Eddie isn’t going completely bat-shit.

He sips, long and slow, and the fog settles. In his house, there’s always a pot of coffee ready for consumption--none of the probiotic bullshit Stan’s always swearing by or the array of tea boxes lining Ben’s cabinets. And Richie only drinks caffeine if it’s soda or pumped with chocolate. The miracle of dark-roast is unfortunately lost on Eddie’s friends, but that’s probably because his aunts have been force-feeding him the hot stuff since he was a kid. There’s three of them, scattered between Derry and Brookline, Massachusetts where they all grew up. New England isn’t that big so Eddie sees the three of them and their families maybe more than strictly necessary. Eddie’s mom didn’t exactly discourage this habit when he was younger which is probably why he’s starting to develop a relationship with coffee that toes the line of borderline addiction.

It’s definitely not the _best_ trait he could have picked up from the Kirkland side of his family, especially when paired with his mother’s habits of stocking up on shit like potato chips, _Chunky Monkey_ , and T.V. dinners. Not that Eddie’s complaining. Sometimes, he eats at Stan’s house and holy _fuck_ that family loves raw tomatoes.

“It’s _salad_ ,” Stan had hissed at him when he asked, “ _God_ , Eddie, when was the last time you consumed something that wasn’t processed?” Joke’s on Stan. _He_ doesn’t get to come home and sit on the couch to catch _Wheel of Fortune_ while stuffing his face with pudding pops.

“-ddie. Eddie-bear? Edward!” Eddie starts, looking to his mother with wide eyes. She mirrors his expression. “Sweetie, are you alright? I’ve been calling and you hardly moved.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie assures her, but regardless, she gets herself up from the table and reaches towards him, clucking her tongue.

“Eddie, let me take your temperature,” she insists, hauling him towards her by the arm and pressing a hand against his forehead. “You know I don’t want you outside if you’re feeling under the weather.”

“Mama, please,” Eddie says, leaning back. “I _am_ fine, just tired. I was, uh, up late last night doing my homework.” She stares at him a moment longer, before releasing him.

“Alright,” she says warily. “But if anything happens, and I mean _anything_ , you come straight home, alright? Have William drive you back.”  
  
“Yes, Mama,” Eddie sighs. “May I be excused? I don’t want to be late.”

He kisses his mother on the cheek gently before lacing up his sneakers and heading down to Bill’s house. It’s a bit of a walk and Eddie frets the entire time--what is he supposed to do when he sees Richie? Should he play it off, _haha, gotcha Rich, Eddie Spaghetti Gets Off A Good One,_ or ignore it completely? Eddie has no idea how Richie’s going to react the moment he walks through Bill’s front door, so he prepares a mental list of possible responses to throw at his friend.

If Richie calls him out in front of everyone, Eddie’s going to deny, deny, deny. And then he’ll resort to violence if Richie doesn’t take the hint to back off.

If Richie makes a joke to his face Eddie’ll just insult him right back--he’s always at the ready, quips rolling off his tongue in quick succession if he’s in the right state of mind.

If he tries to imply that Eddie should go home, or needs to rest, or any other action that vaguely indicates that Eddie is anything but one-hundred percent ready to go, Eddie decides he’ll just ignore Richie entirely.

All of these situations are the norm for their interactions, and Eddie’s sure that no matter what Richie says if he plays it off well enough no one else will catch on that anything’s wrong.

He’s reached Bill’s front door. Oh, shit. Eddie’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and plows on. The Denbrough’s front door is unlocked for the Losers to filter in through the morning and as Eddie toes off his shoes in the foyer, Georgie barrels into him. Eddie lets out an _oof_ , reaching out a hand to steady the kid.

“Eddie!” Georgie exclaims. “You scared me!”

“Same, Georgie,” Eddie says, smiling down at him. “Where ya off to?”

Georgie grins at him, hopping from foot to foot excitedly. “Mom said I can play with Timmy today so I gotta go get ready!” Eddie nods, remembering yesterday’s events. It’s jarring to think that while he was freaking out this morning everyone else seemed to be carrying on in the same way they always would.

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Eddie says, stepping out of Georgie’s way. “Have fun,” he calls after him, but Georgie’s already racing up the stairs. Eddie snorts to himself. Georgie has always been hyperactive, even as a toddler, racing after them on his tiny, chubby legs. God, he was cute back then. Eddie doesn’t think he appreciated it enough when they were younger, but when you’re nine and sneaking into movies or wasting time at the arcade the last thing you want is Big Bill’s baby brother toddling along too. But he can’t deny he had fun dressing Georgie up for whatever pretend-games they played back then or pushing him around on Bill’s skateboard until Bill’s parents (or Bill himself) yelled at them to _be careful_. Eddie thinks if his mom wasn’t crazy and his dad was still alive he’d like a little sibling.

“Is that my little Eddie Spaghetti I hear?” says a voice from behind him, and Eddie turns to see Richie smiling at him, leaning on the doorway.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie says, twisting his fingers. Richie must notice, because his smile drops and his face takes on a more serious expression. He crosses over to where Eddie is standing, looking at him intently.

“Everyone else is at the table, but I said I’d bring you over,” he says quietly, and the low pitch of his voice in Eddie’s ear, his hand delicately grasping Eddie’s elbow...it’s really something else. Eddie shivers. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to bring it up in front of them, but if you wanna play hooky and, I dunno, bum around at the arcade or some shit, I’m down.”

Eddie looks up at Richie, eyes wide. Richie loves the fair. He _loves_ it. It is, by far, one of his favorite spring traditions. “Really?” he asks, surprised. “But, Rich…” he trails off, unsure what to say. He didn’t really prepare for this on the walk over. This isn’t idle banter, or Richie-brand bull. This is Richie, leaning into his space with his face open and soft. Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to act with Richie standing there, his big eyes crinkled in concern, the pad of his thumb swiping over Eddie’s elbow. He stares up into his face, at a loss.

Richie grins. “Don’t give me that look. There’s always next year. Or, like, tomorrow.” They both sort of giggle at each other, and Eddie feels much better. Can breathe better, too, because Richie removes his hand, rocking backward on his heels.

“Thanks, Richie,” he says genuinely, smiling. “I...that’s really nice of you. But it’s okay. I just...had weird dreams,” he says, unsure. “And it was just really disorienting this morning. I can’t explain it,” he adds, when Richie gives him a look like he doesn’t buy the total bullshit Eddie’s feeding him. Which, fair. “But, I swear, I’m good now. So, yeah. Uh…” he trails off, awkward. Now that they’ve gotten past the confusion of this morning, the air is slightly awkward. He and Richie are close, sure, but feelings are hard during the day. The rules of friendship are always a little blurred under the security of the night sky, or a bottle of stolen liquor.

Richie must feel the same way he does, because he sort of hunches into himself, shooting Eddie an embarrassed smile. “If you wanna...uh, there’s like, a ton of waffles left…”

“Thank fuck,” Eddie says, and pushes past Richie to the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

Richie laughs, awkwardness forgotten as he follows him into the kitchen, poking him in the side. “Gettin’ a lil chubby there, eh, Eds?”

“I’ll have you know I’m the absolute model of health.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Stan scoffs, turning to face him as he wanders to his place next to Ben. “Eddie, you couldn’t even identify the smell of spinach when my mom was making Kugel.”

Eddie shrugs, laughing with everyone else. He’s glad he decided to suck it up and go to the fair. It’s like forty pounds of stress have instantly been lifted from his shoulders when he talks with his friends. He scooches his chair closer to the table and digs in.

Despite Eddie’s freak out he’s able to once more enjoy the spread Mrs. Denbrough has laid out for them. _Bill seriously doesn’t know how lucky he is_ , he thinks idly as he downs his eggs with a gulp of juice. Eddie can’t even begin to imagine his own mother getting up early to do anything like this for any of his friends, save for _maybe_ Ben, who, to her, is the epitome of what a good, upstanding young man in today’s America should be. Stan’s Jewish and Mike’s black ( _“Not that it matters!”_ he can hear his mother defend-- _alright, Ma_ ) and Bill’s dragged him home with enough bruises and scratches to warrant her distrust. Richie and Bev are...Richie and Bev. Even if they’ve got the biggest hearts in all of Derry all Eddie’s mom sees is trash. Which is ironic considering the sheer size of Richie’s house and the fact that Bev lives in the same slummy part of Derry Eddie does.

Eddie zones back into the conversation, feeling eyes on his face. He turns and makes eye contact with Richie, who’s leaning on his elbow on the counter and worrying his bottom lip. When Eddie looks at him Richie rights himself a bit and flashes back a grin, turning and striking up a conversation with Mike. Eddie can’t tell from his spot across the table but he’s pretty sure the tips of Richie’s ears are tinged pink. He feels his own face burn and focuses back to breakfast.

\--

Thoughts of insanity aside, Eddie finds reliving the day offers a lot of opportunities for people-watching his friends. Right now they’re in the car on the way to the fair and Eddie notices that Bill’s constantly drumming his fingers on the wheel. Like, _constantly_. And Stan, the softie, was actually smiling at them all earlier when Ben was telling jokes. Mike doesn’t know any of the lyrics to any of the songs on the radio or whatever cassette’s playing, but he mouths the words that he picks up anyways. And Ben and Bev are always having these silent, almost creepy conversations with only their eyes. Or they’re just looking at each other a lot. Eddie doesn’t really know. It’s cute, but also slightly unsettling. He’s surprised he didn’t know these things beforehand, but he supposes his attention is usually taken up by Richie, considering he already knows most of Richie’s tells and quirks. The implications of that statement aren’t lost on him, thanks.

He’s come to a sort of...realization. Eddie thinks he spent a worrying amount of time last night being eaten away by guilt about his actions towards Richie. And he _definitely_ has spent way too much time thinking about all the stupid little glances he and Richie exchanged over breakfast, the look in Richie’s eyes when he offered to bunk the fair and hang out, the touches Richie is insistent on initiating...

“Realization” might not be the right word. _Acceptance_ , his mind argues. _The word you’re looking for is acceptance._ And maybe the voice is right. Because after this whole fiasco Eddie thinks it’s pretty obvious to everyone, including himself, that he’s...well. Y’know.

No one can know. No one _does_ know. Except maybe Bill--but he wouldn’t divulge that information, would he? Would he? Eddie glances at him in the driver's seat. _Be you friend or foe, Denbrough?_

He’d like to think he’s good at keeping secrets and keeping himself in check but he knows deep (like, _really_ deep) down that’s not true. Whatever bullshit the others think they’ve deduced, Eddie hopes they just keep it to themselves from now on. He’s sick and tired of those stupid knowing glances--okay, fine, _maybe_ they sort of pushed him in the right direction and _maybe_ the cumulation of yesterday’s events with everyone’s actions these past few semesters was the push he needed to examine himself, but. Still. Let a guy discover his stupid, supremely pathetic crush on _Trashmouth_ \--of all people!--on his own, alright?

A crush. A crush on _Richie_. Eddie’s so fucking dumb.

Richie’s dumber, though. It’s all his fault, with his stupid jokes and his lame voices and the way he has literally zero concept of “ _personal space, Richie!!_ ” Always manhandling him and hugging him and complimenting him with that goofy smile and those dark eyes and that floppy hair and his hands, oh my _God_ , his hands. Warm and broad when they rest against Eddie’s back, his chest firm when he pulls Eddie into him and Eddie’s _just_ the perfect height for Richie to rest his chin on his head.

He’s so, so fucked.

Eddie spends most of the car ride silently taking Richie’s weight this time instead of retaliating, preemptively fending off Richie and Bev’s mini-war. He’s waiting until it’s clear he’s not going to react so Richie will take the hint and move off him. But Richie _doesn’t_ move off him. He simply adjusts and shifts back into his seat, but he leaves their arms and legs pressed gently together. It’s absolute torture. Like, it _actually_ burns. On one hand, it's kind of nice. Electric, almost. Tingly. But at the same time it _kind of_ makes Eddie feel like he’s going to combust. Or throw up. Or panic. Probably all three. He doesn’t dare move, though--like it’s some sort of weird, self-inflicted punishment for his stupid dopey brain for falling for Richie.

(Or maybe he just likes it).

\--

“Well, what do you guys want to do first?” Ben says once more when they’re standing around at the beginning of the fairgrounds, complete with the hand-clap. It makes Eddie smile. Stan, Mike, and Bev argue about the House of Mirrors and, like clockwork, Richie announces that he’s taking Eddie away to the midway games, arm slung over his shoulders.

“Alright,” Eddie agrees easily, interested to see what Richie will say.

Richie grins at him. “Haystack, Big Bill, you joining?”

“Sure!” Ben says, and they turn to Bill, but before he can respond, Eddie talks.

“I don’t think he wants to come,” he says, starting to smirk. “I heard Olivia Jennings was gonna swing by later, right, Bill?”

Bill gapes at him, and Mike snorts out a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. “H-h-how’d you knuh-know, Eddie?” That _really_ sets Mike and Richie off. Bev smacks Bill on the arm, but she’s grinning too.

Eddie smiles. Today can be kind of fun...except for the impending reality that he may be attending this fair every day for the rest of the foreseeable future. That shuts him up quickly, and Eddie edges out from under Richie’s hold. Richie shoots him a curious little glance, wiping his eyes.

“What’s up, Eds?”

“Just didn’t want your trash germs getting on me this early in the day,” Eddie says.

“Ah,” Richie nods, and shoots him a grin. “Later, then, yeah?”

“That is _so_ not what I meant!”

It’s too easy to default back into his normal, snarky self. He and Richie bicker good-naturedly all the way to the beginning of the midway games, Ben a meager buffer from where he walks between them.

“No offense, you guys,” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but do you two ever have a day off?”

“I’m always on that grind,” Richie says. Then, after a beat--”grinding up on my boy Eds, Benny, you know how it is--”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie snaps. Ben shakes his head but he’s smiling because he’s a sap who eats up any interaction that even vaguely indicative of flirting.

Richie saunters away in front of them, head tipped back. “You know you want it, Eds,” he sings, and Eddie takes the opportunity to plant his foot square on Richie’s back and send him stumbling into the dust with a squawk, limbs flailing.

Ben happens to chose that _exact_ moment to take a deep gulp of water, and his ensuing laughter causes it to spray out of his nose, out of his mouth, and directly onto Eddie’s shirt.

\--

He comes to an odd sort of conclusion, when they’re finishing up at the balloon darts, that perhaps this day is some sort of a _do-over_. Eddie realizes this when Richie starts yammering on about the ring toss. Yesterday (as much as it pains Eddie to admit) Richie had been nothing but nice to him--waking him up, complimenting him throughout the day, and even giving him a gift. Like...like he’s Eddie’s…

Like he’s Eddie’s best friend, which makes sense, because _that’s what he is_ , so. Eddie’s not dumb enough to live in a world where he’s under the foolish impression that Richie actually likes him back. Jesus. His thoughts are just all jumbled up because he’s stuck in some fucking time loop.

The point is, they ended the day on, like...really bad terms. Eddie rarely fights with his friends and always feels a bit sick to his stomach when he does--especially when it’s Richie. Because, yeah, Eddie puts up with a _lot_ of Richie’s shit--but that means Richie’s gotta put up with all of  _Eddie’s_ shit too. And Eddie knows for a fact that he can be a lot sometimes. No use in pretending he’s not at least a little bit high maintenance.

So yeah, anyways--maybe there’s some deity up there looking out for him or something. Or...like, the karmic energy of the universe aligned with the planets or some shit. Eddie doesn’t give a rat’s ass about astrology or astronomy or whatever-the-fuckology Bev’s always going on about but he _does_ know that he was given a second chance. Maybe yesterday Richie had something--a pitch for a new Voice, college plans, joke formats--he needed to discuss with Eddie. Or he could have been going through some personal shit and needed someone to lend an ear. Or maybe Richie actually has Eddie all figured out, which suck some major ass, but Eddie knows Richie’s a good enough guy that he wouldn’t give him too hard a time. Whatever Richie wants to say, he’s got a chance at saying it now because Eddie’s not gonna mess up this time. He’s going on that damn ferris wheel later. Eddie’s gonna suck it up and take whatever Richie has to say. And then he’s going to go home, go to bed, and wake up on a Sunday morning--not Saturday.

By the time he’s worked out the problem in his head and decided his course of action, Richie’s pointing out the little dog high on the shelf. Eddie can’t help it. He smiles.

“That dog is so cute,” he says, nudging Richie. He decides to have a little fun. “I’m gonna try and win one, too.”

“Uh,” Richie stammers, and Eddie’s eyebrows rise at the pink dusting across his nose. It’s cute and more than a little goofy, especially considering the way it contrasts against his freckles. “I--actually, this was supposed to be for you, I dunno, I thought you’d like it…” he trails off, looking wide-eyed like he didn’t quite mean to admit that out loud.

Eddie’s enjoying this. So fucking what? He’s had a rough day and deserves to have some fun. And it’s so, so rare to catch Richie out, so satisfying to beat him at his own game. “For me?” Eddie asks, pitching his voice just a smidge higher, his eyes a bit bigger. Next to them, Ben is about as red as Richie is, eyes swiveling between the two of them. “Why?”

Richie sort of scowls. “I just said I thought you’d like it, didn’t I? You dig all this cutesy stuff, I dunno, I already got the water gun…”

Eddie bristles. “I do not ‘dig all this cutesy stuff,’” he huffs. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Okay okay okay _fine_ , so I made that part up,” Richie defends, both palms in the air. “Look, I don’t know, I just thought it would be cute to give you, okay? Je- _sus_.”

Fuck, Eddie’s in too deep. He wishes he could backtrack because Richie’s face is bright, bright red and Eddie can’t help but flush in return. What was he _thinking??_ Flirting? With _Richie?_ First of all, Ben is _right there,_ and...and...this isn’t the time for these sorts of conclusions. They’re in public, for Christ’s sake.

“Do you want it, or not?” Richie says, and he shakes the dog in Eddie’s face with feigned nonchalance, like he doesn’t care. Like he didn’t just try extremely hard to win Eddie a prize at the fair because he thought it would be a sweet gesture.

Eddie takes it from him. “Yes. I want it. Thank you,” he adds, because Richie looks vaguely uncomfortable.

“No problem,” Richie says, and shakes his head. “You always make such a big fucking deal out of everything…”

Eddie sort of grunts in response because--yeah, he kind of does. Richie looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, scuffing his toe in the dirt before spinning on his heel and shuffling off.

“Let’s go meet up with the others,” he calls over his shoulder, waving Eddie and Ben over. “Enough of these bullshit midway games.”

Eddie sighs and starts off after him, feeling awkward, but Ben grabs his arm.

“ _Eddie_ ,” Ben says, eyes wide.

Eddie hides his face in the dog. “Ben, don’t say it.”

“But--”

“I _know_ ,” Eddie sighs, and peeks over at his friend. “Believe me, I’m as shocked as you.”

Ben lets go of his arm then, and--Eddie truly doesn’t know what other word to use--squeals excitedly. “You know what this means, right? Eddie, come on, you have to admit that was so cute!”

“It was,” Eddie admits after a moment, grudging. “I--yeah. Can we just...like...move on for now?”

“Of course!” Ben says, but he’s smiling really big. Eddie sighs internally. No doubt the first thing Ben’s going to do is run to Bev and then he’ll have her breathing down his neck about this new development. _Ah, fuck me._

Eddie decides to tone down his out-of-character moments because it seemed to have really thrown Richie for a loop. He spends the better half of the next hour keeping a vague distance from Eddie, shooting him little confused looks every now and again, but after a while Eddie supposes he gets over it because he’s back to suffering from on-brand Trashmouth Teasing by the time Stan makes it back on wobbly knees from the Wall of Death with Bill and Mike and beelines for the trashcan to throw up.

“Staniel the Maniel!” Richie cheers, and drags Eddie _way_ too close to Stan for either of their liking. “Excellent form today.”  
  
“Get fucked, Tozier,” Stan says, wiping his mouth with the tissue Eddie hands him. “Thanks.”

“Why do you do that stupid ride every year?” Eddie asks. “You always blow chunks.”

Stan sort of groans, and looks at the sky. “I thought today was my year,” he explains, and shakes a weak fist at the clouds. “Fuck Bill and Mike. Like I can help it. Did you know there’s almost four G’s of G-force on those things?”

“No,” Eddie says, mainly because he isn’t quite sure what G-force is.

“Nuh-uh,” Richie says. “That’s a total pile of shit, Stanny, there’s no way.”

“Uh, _yuh-huh_ , Rich,” Stan argues, and takes a massive swig of water. “I read about it.”

“When the fuck were you reading about amusement park rides?”

“I actually enjoy bettering myself and learning outside of a classroom, Richie, unlike some people--”

“Hah, right, because the mating habits of wild turkeys is totally something we should all be studying up on…”

Eddie leaves the two of them to wander back to the others, because sometimes when Richie and Stan get started it's next to impossible to get them to shut up. Their arguments always delve into some weird nerd-off where they hurl facts at each other to try and prove who’s “smarter”--which is really obnoxious, in Eddie’s opinion. Stan and Richie are like, the smartest people he knows.

Eddie chooses to stand with Bill and Mike because Ben and Bev are giving him _looks_ from where they are slouched against a wall,  scheming like some knock-off Boris and Natasha.

Okay, he’s being a little dramatic, but he _just_ figured out this stupid crush this morning! He’s not ready to admit it to others out loud--he could barely admit it to himself in his own _brain_ . Eddie went to Bill and Mike because even though Mike always knows everything and Bill is notoriously oblivious, they’re both tactful enough to leave him alone (for the most part). And to be honest, Eddie needs a little space to think. It takes a lot out of a person to realize they’re _in like_ with someone like Richie Tozier.

\--

“Hey, Eds,” Richie drawls in his ear, warm against his neck. It’s approaching twilight, purple beginning to bleed across the sky, and the fair is winding down. Both Richie’s arms are slung over Eddie’s shoulders, clasped at his chest and chin digging into him. Eddie turns his head the few scant degrees left between him and Richie’s face, meeting his eyes. He knows what’s coming.

“Yeah?”

Richie leans back a bit, grinning, and the orange glow of the evening doesn’t hide the way his face turns pink at their proximity. “Go on the ferris wheel with me.”

Eddie can’t help but warm at the words, even though he’s heard them before. It’s honestly just like the movies, except Eddie’s sure that Richie’s taking him up only to let him down gently.

Well...he _was_ sure, yesterday. But as shitty as the repeat is for his mental health, it offered a lot of free time for Eddie to watch Richie, because he wasn’t overthinking every single one of his decisions and words. And Richie…

Eddie honestly can’t tell the difference between Richie flirting because he’s fucking around and Richie flirting because...he wants to. And although Eddie has solidly denied any semblance of a relationship between him and Richie in the past, all the signs seem to point to the conclusion that maybe Richie thinks about Eddie the same way Eddie thinks about Richie. All that stupid, gooey shit like in the shows his mom watches--shit like holding hands and hugging and other lame crap that Eddie feels like a total dork blushing over.

But then Eddie remembers Richie kissing Bill’s face and hugging Beverly and swinging Stan around, despite Stan’s protests, and it’s back to square one.

He supposes there’s really no way to know for sure, but Eddie is positive of one thing: he can’t make the same mistake as yesterday unless he wants to be stuck in today forever. So he draws on whatever smidgen of bravery he’s got stored away and sucks in a breath.

Richie’s still looking at him expectantly, and Eddie lets himself smile, air whooshing out in a single exhale. “Sure, Richie.”

Richie looks vaguely surprised, as if he expected Eddie to fight, which is fair. Richie clearly knows him well.

They head off to wait in line, waving off the others. Stan claps Richie on the back, grinning, and Eddie remembers that clearly Stan’s in on whatever’s about to happen. If something’s about to happen. Eddie’s going crazy with all his internal, half-formed theories. Most likely Richie just wants to ride the ferris wheel because he...wants to ride the ferris wheel. Eddie suddenly feels stupid for his original actions. But he still makes sure to give Stan a long, searching look which Stan surprisingly returns until Richie drags him away.

It’s no surprise that Richie babbles the entire time. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say Richie was nervous. _Get a grip_ , he reasons. _You’re projecting because your stuck on this stupid ride and all pressed up against Richie._ But he can’t deny it gets annoying after they’ve started the rise upward and Richie’s still running his mouth on some show he and Bill binged last week.

“Richie,” Eddie sighs. Richie stops talking and watches Eddie fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “Why did you bring me up here?”

“What, Eds?” Richie chokes out a laugh, “can’t I have a moment with my boy?” Eddie frowns slightly. Richie’s tense. He can see it in the lines of his shoulders, in the grip he has on the wall of their cart turning his knuckles white.

“Yeah,” Eddie allows. “But, like. I dunno…” he trails off, suddenly nervous. Richie’s entire being radiates awkward. Fucking hell...they’re halfway to the top at this point and Eddie’s spoken about ten words. _This_ , Eddie thinks to himself, _this is definitely hell_. “Whatever you’re about to do, can you just get it over with?”

“What makes you think I need to _do_ anything?”

Eddie thumps his head against the seat. _Richie’s right,_ he thinks. _I only knows how much of a big deal this is because of yesterday’s fight._ “I don’t know, because we already spent the entire day together? Why do you need,” Eddie takes a breath, “another ‘moment with your boy’”?

“Right you are as always, Eds,” Richie deflects, and turns to gaze out over the fairground.

They sit in silence for about another fifteen seconds.

“Richie,” Eddie snaps, annoyed. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me you dragged me on here for no fucking reason.” _Seriously, if this whole fiasco was all because Richie wanted to look at the damn sunset..._

Richie barks out a laugh, and it startles Eddie, but when he looks Richie’s face is the furthest thing from amused. “I--yeah,” he says, and runs fingers through his hair. “Eddie, I--um.”

Suddenly Eddie forgets his irritation, because Richie looks like he’s about to be sick. “Rich?” he tries, and tentatively places a hand on Richie’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Richie turns, looking at the hand on his arm, and suddenly Eddie has the urge to snatch it away. It burns, resting there against Richie’s skin, searing hot between them. The entire air shifts and suddenly Eddie is nervous. But all of that is nothing, nothing compared to the way Richie looks at him next, eyes locked onto his, gaze intense.

“Eddie,” Richie breathes, and Eddie’s breath catches a bit in his throat. He’s never heard Richie sound like that, never seen him look like this. “Eds, Eddie. Fuck, I don’t know where to begin.” He breaks eye contact and Eddie is thankful. He places a hand on his heart and feels his chest begin to rise at a normal pace again. Richie’s got his head bowed, and Eddie can’t tear his gaze away from his profile. He can feel it in his stomach, his throat, in the back of his mouth--there’s energy vibrating between them. Something big is about to happen.

“Eddie, man, you gotta know. I really--I can’t hold it in anymore. Shit,” he laughs, and glances back to Eddie, hair mussed and eyes a little frantic. “You--I--” he cuts off.

Eddie feels more than sees the way Richie gazes at him, his nerves tingling. “Richie,” he says, because he has an inkling of what Richie wants to say but can’t bring himself to believe it without some sort of hard proof. “What is it?”

“I like you, Eddie,” Richie says, and doesn’t break eye contact. Eddie can’t move. He stares, jaw slack, at Richie’s face, redder than the setting sky around them. “I...shit, Eddie, I seriously like you _so_ much, you can’t even...hah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know you’re my friend--but, shit. You have to know. I can’t keep pretending anymore. _Shit_.”

“I…” Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he had suspected it just now, but... _wow_ . This is entirely different, hearing it, confirming it, having Richie look at him like that, like he’s...Eddie opens and closes his mouth, at a loss, head swimming. _I like you, Eddie._ Richie is looking deep into him and Eddie is startled to see that his eyes are a bit glassy. _I like you, Eddie._

“You don’t have to say anything,” Richie hurries to say, when it’s obvious Eddie isn’t going to speak any more. He’s absolutely terrified, stuck in his spot, astounded. He thinks, vaguely, he might be broken. Richie is too much--his big broad hands and his big brown eyes and his smile, fuck, that _smile_.

But Eddie can’t move. He’s frozen in place, watching Richie watch him, emotions whirling inside him. He’s ecstatic; yet terrified. Eddie’s never been in a position like this before--he hasn’t had time to prepare, he doesn’t know what to do…

But then Richie sniffles a bit, and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. Eddie, I’m _sorry_ ,” voice as sincere as he’s ever heard it. “I get it. I don’t regret it but sorry...sorry to make you uncomfortable. I just...you had to know, Eds. It was _killing_ me. And I know, I know--don’t call you Eds.”

His laugh catches in his throat a bit and for a startling second Eddie takes Richie in, eyes wide, nervous. But then the sun glints off Richie’s glasses and the metal of his braces and he laughs his weird, hiccuping laugh and Eddie isn’t scared anymore because it’s just Richie.

Eddie surges forward, thighs chafing horribly against the plastic of the seat, grabbing Richie by the elbows. Richie’s eyes are wide, planted on the two points of contact Eddie’s initiated. And maybe it's a bit forward, with the way Eddie’s tucked himself right all up against Richie’s side, but he can’t let this go on a second longer with Richie under the impression that this is a one-sided affair.

“Richie,” Eddie says, and _God_ , it takes a monumental effort to string words together.

“What’s up?” Richie wheezes, voice high and strung-out. Eddie doesn’t know what to say, so he squeeze’s Richie’s arms, delighting (for once) in the flush that threatens to burn him and Richie’s faces.

“I…” Eddie says, and he hopes the expression on his face carries his message across. But, just in case…

“I like you, too,” and oh _man,_ it’s worth it for the expression Richie makes. Eddie’s never seen him look so open and clear, his mouth open slightly. Eddie wants to say more, wants to tell Richie that he’s liked him for _so_ long, he was embarrassed for _so_ long about it, but it took tremendous effort for those four words and Eddie doubts he can handle much more.

“Oh,” Richie says dumbly, and Eddie can’t help but let out a little giggle. He removes one hand from Richie’s bicep, covering his mouth. Slowly, Richie starts to smile too, until they’re both sitting there like idiots dumbly grinning at one another in silence. Eddie can’t even look away--not that he wants to. Richie looks very dorky, with his ears all red and his toothy grin. God, Eddie likes him. It’s exhilarating to admit.

He takes a chance and slides his hands down Richie’s arms, and Richie turns his palms upward at the right moment so that they can hold hands. It’s hot, so hot, and Eddie burns as he looks at their joined hands, feeling giddy with relief. Richie is still, as still as he’s ever been in his life--Eddie almost dies right then and there when his thumb traces the back of Eddie’s hand. He looks up and Richie’s already there, smiling at him, and Eddie can’t do much but beam back, gripping his hands slightly.

Then- _-oh_ . Richie starts to lean in, Eddie swears--it's a minute, barely-there movement, but Eddie feels the pull, feels Richie’s gravity, and he can’t help but sway his head closer, tilt his head upward, tingling and burning. Richie’s face, _oh_ , his face--eyes half lidded, and Eddie knows what's about to happen and he wants it so _badly--_

“Alright, off you go,” says a voice, and Eddie jumps. The bored face of the teenager working the ride brings him out of his lovesick stupor.  He’s disappointed to see that him and Richie have wasted whatever meager alone time they could have had on the ride staring at each other’s eyes and holding hands like the dumbass couples at school they always make fun of. He chances a quick glance at Richie, who looks just as disappointed as he feels, but it’s gone in a flash as Richie comes to and grins at Eddie, motioning for him to get off.

They don’t speak as they walk back to the others--Eddie’s pretty sure they’re both swimming in the daze of their confessions--they’ve been silent the whole time and it’s wildly out of character, the others are bound to notice. Eddie is vaguely embarrassed but can’t bring himself to care, especially when Richie bumps him and they share a smile. Eddie can only take so much and he breaks eye contact, covering his face with his hands and grinning.

“What?” Richie says, sounding amused, and Eddie can only shake his head at him. Richie laughs.

When they reach the others Stan immediately turns to them, expression curious. Eddie sees Richie flash him a little thumbs up. Stan beams. Eddie feels dumb for his freak-out yesterday, but at least he was granted the “do-over” (or whatever the fuck he’s calling today) to fix it. He shoots Stan a wobbly smile anyways, for karmic purposes. Stan smiles back and Eddie is suddenly incredibly embarrassed, unsure how to proceed. Does everyone know? Did Richie tell everyone beforehand, or just Stan? Is Stan going to tell everyone? Is it obvious? Eddie thinks its obvious because it's been a few minutes since they joined the group at this point and he and Richie haven’t said anything. Oh, god. Oh, shit.

Eddie casts a glance to Ben but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything, idly chatting with Bill as they all wait for Mike to get back from the bathroom. And Bev, thank god, isn’t focused on them right now, listening to everyone’s conversations from her position of being draped over Ben’s back.

 _Oh, thank fuck_ , Eddie thinks, gazing up to where a few stars begin to shine through the sky. He’s safe. And now, he has Richie, which is an entirely new train of thought to even begin to comprehend. For the first time he feels thankful for the repeat of today. Richie reaches up and twirls the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, shooting him a shy grin and a wink. Whatever mind-fuck it’s been so far the benefits have totally outweighed the negatives, and he’d do it all over again if it leads to happy endings like this one has been.

\--

Eddie is jittery with excitement the entire ride back to Bill’s house, the novelty of Richie’s confession still bouncing around in his brain. Richie doesn’t dare pull any moves in the car, sitting ramrod straight next to him. Funny. Figures when it's appropriate Richie’s too shy to engage. They keep making eye contact and grinning and Eddie wants to run, wants to hide him and Richie away alone so they can finally _talk_ about whatever’s going on between them. Because he feels that more than likely it’s been on the back burner for months. Maybe even years.

They all tumble out of the van when Bill finally opens the side door, swinging it back and rattling it against the frame of the car. “C’mon, ou-out you guys guh-go.”

Bev and Mike immediately race for inside, calling dibs on picking the movie for tonight.

“No, guys,” Ben whines after them. “Bev, please don’t pick anything horror this time.”

“No promises, love,” Bev calls back.

“Bev’s not picking _anything_ because _I_ have dibs,” Mike says, and Bev’s answer is lost to them as the two disappear inside.

Ben shakes his head, world-weary, and follows them too. Bill laughs.

“C’mon, yuh-you guys,” he says, tilting to face his house. “L-lets go b-b-before they kill each oth-other.”

Eddie doesn’t want to sit through another movie night at Bill’s, counting down the minutes until he can talk to Richie freely, suffering the knowing gazes of Stan, Bev, and Ben. He opens his mouth to tell Bill calmly that he and Richie actually won’t be joining tonight, thank you very much.

“No-thanks-I-think-I’ll-just-head-home!” he squeaks instead. Shit.

“Oh?” Stan says. “Interesting.”

“No wuh-worries, Eddie,” Bill says, probably thinking this has to do with his mom or some curfew shit and not the fact that Eddie’s lusting after one of his best friends. “Ruh-Richie, can you h-help me with sna-acks?”

“Uh, no,”Richie says, glancing at Eddie. “I think...uh...I’ll go home too…”

Bill looks surprised. “Really?” he asks, tilting his head. “You a-always sleep over after, th-though.”

Richie, for once, doesn’t seem to know what to say. Eddie feels weirdly smug. “Uh…”

Stan, blessed Stan, comes to their rescue. “Don’t look a gift horse in it’s mouth, Bill,” he says, nudging Richie in the side. “If Richie wants to leave, let him. I’d like to sit through a movie without his yammering.”

“R-right,” Bill says, amused. “Okay, then. Suh-suit yourself, Rich.”

“Oh, you know I will,” Richie winks. Eddie shakes his head.

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to find out,” Richie leers, and then immediately blooms red.

Bill sighs. “Eddie, you’ve guh-got to stop falling for Richie’s shit all the t-t-time,” he grumbles. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.”

“Yeah, Eddie.” Stan’s grin is very shark-like. “Quit _falling_ for Richie.”

If Bill notices the way Richie and Eddie can’t seem to make eye contact with them or each other, he doesn’t comment. Richie halfheartedly shoves Stan away from him.

“Shut up…” he mumbles, rubbing his arm self-consciously. “Don’t you have like, I dunno, a robin to jack off to or some shit?”

Bill barks out a laugh and Eddie can’t stop his traitorous mouth from twitching upwards too, even though _ew_ , Richie. “Oh, that is fucking disgusting, Trashmouth!” Stan says, wrinkling his nose. “Just-- _gross_. I’m going inside. Coming, Bill? Leave these two dorks in the dust.”

Bill grins at them one last time. “Yeah, sure,” he calls after Stan, who’s already up the drive. “H-have a g-good night, you guys.”

“You too, Big Bill,” Richie says.

Eddie waves. “Bye.”

They watch as Bill walks up his driveway, slowly, so lethargic as he opens his door and lets himself inside, _Jesus, Bill, move a little faster, dammit._

“Finally,” Richie sags in relief when the door shuts. He immediately faces Eddie, smiling. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” Eddie says, trying for exasperated but probably landing somewhere among _amused_ and _totally_   _charmed._

“I’ll walk ya home,” Richie says, like it’s nothing. “I know Mrs. K’s antsy for you to come home, but I’m afraid she’s antsier for me to just come in general, so.”

“Richie!” Eddie snaps, shoving him slightly. “That is literally so _fucking_ disgusting, I swear to God! ‘Your mom’ jokes stopped being funny when we were like, eleven.” Richie just laughs at him slinging an arm around his shoulders. Eddie shoves him off again.

They walk for a bit, talking bullshit, and it’s just like nothing’s changed. The air’s still a little charged between them, and Eddie wants more. The ferris wheel left him reeling, as lame as it is to admit, so he takes a chance and reaches for Richie’s hand.

“Whoa,” Richie says, looking down at where Eddie’s grasped him. “Um.”

“What?” Eddie says, self-conscious and immediately on the defensive. “You don’t want to?” He makes to draw his hand back but Richie holds on. Eddie notes with a bit of wonder that his face is approaching crimson.

“No, I do,” he says weakly, and looks away from Eddie, fiddling with his glasses. “Jeez, can’t even factor in a damn reaction time…”

 _Oh_. Richie’s _nervous_. It’s so mind-boggingly _cute_ Eddie lets out a snicker, laughing harder at the offended look Richie shoots him.

“So,” Richie starts, when they’ve walked hand in hand for a few blocks. Eddie’s a little apprehensive, because its Derry and the nineties and they’re in public, but. The sky’s dark enough now to mask them, hiding the way their fingers interlace between them. “When did you figure out you were crushing on Big Bad Tozier, eh, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie grins, bumping his shoulder. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Rich,” he teases. “Jury’s still out. There’s a strong theory that you brainwashed me, actually.”

“Brainwashing!” Richie cries, clasping a hand to his heart dramatically. “Eddie-bear, I would never--my charms are too irresistible.”

“Charms,” Eddie snorts. “Right.” It feels surreal, bantering with Richie while actually holding his hand. Every time he moves Eddie’s aware of the press of Richie’s palm against his, his knobbly knuckles knocking against his own. Almost all of attention is focused is on their point of contact, his brain half on auto-pilot.

“Well, I’ll go first then,” Richie says, and his shit-eating grin is plastered across his face. “Fifth grade, when you walked in with that new fanny pack your mom bought you, whoo boy. Eds, you really knew how to get me going back then, I gotta be honest.”

“That’s fucking gross, and a _lie_ ,” Eddie says. “You made fun of that thing for weeks.”

“Pulling pigtails,” Richie explains. “Or like, that time you had to wear a retainer at night and you showed up to the sleepover with that fucking lisp. Man,” Richie whistles, and Eddie hates himself for laughing. “I was such a goner.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and means the opposite.

“Maybe that time you finally got athletic shorts that reached your knees,” Richie offers, and then gazes down at him, eyes soft. “Or that time you mouthed off at Greta when she was being her usual bitchy self. And when you showed up to watch me audition for the spring musical freshman year. Only you and Bev came.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide. “Richie…” he says, blushing.

“And when Vic Criss punched me last year,” Richie says, and he draws Eddie closer towards him. “My little Eddie Spaghetti was ready with his cute little first aid kit and his cute little wrinkled nose because he was worried about me. You patched me up real good, Eds, you always have.”

Eddie nods dumbly. “I--of course, Richie, I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“You’re a good friend,” Richie says, and he lets go of Eddie’s hand to grasp at both his elbows. “You hang out with me in your free time willingly, you know? And you listen to me when I talk, I know you do. I guess that’s what did it. You put in a lot of effort into our friendship, and I guess that’s how I…” Richie trails off, slides his hands up, up Eddie’s arms and across his shoulders, resting then along his jaw and cradling Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s entire body feels electric. Somehow, he brings himself to reach out and grab at Richie’s shirt, pulling him closer. Oh, the way Richie’s eyes darken at his action. Eddie can’t take it.

He winds his hands up into the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck, twisting. “Rich,” Eddie says, tilting upwards to meet Richie’s gaze head on.

Eddie smiles, and Richie smiles back, and then Richie’s pulling his face up, leaning in. Eddie closes his eyes at the last possible second and lets Richie hover in front of him, their lips barely brushing for a beat before reaching up and closing the distance.

Kissing Richie is…

It’s…

The way he holds Eddie, like he’s something precious--it’s so out of character for such a wild guy like Richie, it makes Eddie’s heart _ache_ . He can feel Richie shaking slightly, when he brushes back Eddie’s hair behind his ears, and can relate. This is so new, so novel- _-never_ did Eddie ever think he’d get something like this, a moment like this, a guy like this. Richie kisses softly, sweetly, like Eddie’s something beautiful and fragile; reverent, almost, and it makes Eddie drag him closer, kiss him a bit deeper.

Eddie kisses enthusiastically, a bit sloppily, because he’s nervous but not embarrassed since he knows Richie is nervous too. It’s too much, and they’re both so stupid. They’ve known each other since they were six, what’s there to be nervous about? It’s been Richie and Eddie from the start, hasn’t it? They should have seen this coming, should have predicted it _years_ ago, and Eddie’s so grateful they’ve finally reached this point. They’re idiots, the two of them.

Eddie breaks off, because he’s simply human, and can only take so much. He giggles into the space between them, losing it even more at the look Richie shoots him.

“What’s so funny?” Richie asks, and his lips are silvery-slick and puffy.

Eddie presses a hand to his mouth. “Nothing,” he says, warming at the way Richie rubs his thumbs over his cheek. All this kissing must have loosened up his mouth because the next words that spill out don’t even filter through his brain before they hang in the air between them. “I like you so much.”

Richie laughs, eyes crinkled up behind his glasses, teeth bright and face radiating joy. “I’ve gathered,” he says, grinning down at him. Richie’s smile can stop rain, his laughter can move mountains, and Eddie’s the biggest fucking dumbass on this entire planet to deny himself this all these months. Eddie hides his face in Richie’s chest, pressing his smile into Richie’s shirt.

“I…” Eddie says, muffled. His words get stuck in his throat. He settles for sliding his hands down to grasp Richie’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Richie agrees, and he ducks his head in again to rest against Eddie’s forehead. It would be smooth if he wasn't blushing madly all the while. “Me, too.”

\--

 _Tap-tap_. _Tap-tap taptaptap_.

Eddie’s eyes fly open. He’s afraid to look--but he does. 7:27 am, his alarm clock informs him cheerily.

“God _fucking_ dammit,” he curses, and lifts his head to glare at Richie in the window.

“Eds, my boy! Up, up, up and at ‘em, daylight breaks and waits for no man!”

“You can’t be serious,” Eddie moans to his ceiling, flopping onto his back as Richie gripes about the weather and that stupid _fucking_ gutter. “You can’t fucking...Jesus _Christ_.”

“Eds?” says Richie after some time when it's clear Eddie has no intention of getting out of bed. “Dude, let me in, I’m not kidding, I’m freezing my balls off out here. Ya want that? Ya want me to walk around ball-less? They’ll like, retreat back into my body and I’ll go through some reverse puberty shit and end up with a face like yours, y’know, ‘cuz you’ve literally looked the same your whole life, pretty much, and you _know_ the ladies won’t want that. Ha ha! My voice will probably rise too-- _hey_ , at least we’ll sound the same! _Wah_ ,” he says, pitching his voice higher in some piss-poor imitation of what Eddie apparently sounds like to Richie’s clogged up ear canals. _“You’re all disgusting and gross! I iron my socks and wipe my ass gently with lemon-infused four-ply.”_

 _Lord_ , _deliver me_ , Eddie thinks, gazing upwards with a resigned sigh of acceptance. He decides on ignoring Richie entirely, who’s now gone off on some round-robin of rude impressions. _How_ is this the same person who was too nervous to hold hands last night; the same person that admitted he’s liked Eddie for years because of who he is as a _person_. Who cradled Eddie’s head in his hands delicately as he moved his lips softly against Eddie’s own, in the dim light of the streetlamp outside? God, he seriously can’t believe his fucking luck. Eddie thinks he might be too numb from emotional overdrive at this point to even give half of the shit required for the situation, considering he’s about to relive the past forty- _fucking-_ eight hours. _Again_.

Richie, still outside, has resorted to whining. “C’mon, Eddie,” he pouts, drawing out the vowels in Eddie’s name. “Don’t you want to go to the fair? It only comes like, once a year!”

Eddie chucks his pillow at the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there ya have it...
> 
> also i feel like the title is more of a circus-y vibe than a county fair. mistakes...mistakes everywhere :/
> 
> i promise next chap wont be too repetitive !!! and ill try not to take as long...really wanted to get this out today. like this was insane wayy too much of a time gap so im really sorry. tell me what u think and feel free to drop me a line im didsw on tumblr as well!!! :) :D

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, i've had this idea for months. months. like i wrote parts back in fucking october...i knew i was a slow writer but never did i think i wouldn't even post it till next fucking YEAR! jfc
> 
> idk i havent read the book so yall tell me what u thought about the characterizations?? i have eddie swear a lot and ramble internally because it just seems like him, in my mind?? (and also he talks like, all the time, at least in the 2017 movie. Eddie=true trashmouth? probs) like i def think he talks the most out of the seven and poor rich is the one with the bad rep. 
> 
>  
> 
> but yeah this will be continued obvs but im curious as to what you all think so far! drop by, i'm @didsw on tumblr as well! hope u enjoyed :D :)


End file.
